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A 


TOUR 


THROUGH A PART OF 

* 

THE NETHERLANDS, FRANCE, 

AN© 

SWITZERLAND, 

IN THE YEAR 1817: 


CONTAINING A VARIETY OF INCIDENTS, WITH THE 

AUTHOR’S REFLECTIONS, SERIOUS AND LIVELY. 

/ 


— 


BY THOMAS HEGER. 


-.*- n 


LONDON 


Printed by A. J. Valpy , Red Lion Court , Fleet Street. 
SOLD BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND 
BROWNE, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 

1820 . 


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PREFACE. 


X H ere is something so offensive to the 
feelings of an impartial reader, and tending 
so much to provoke his ill-will, in that 
complacency and self-approval which in¬ 
duces a writer to put forth a work for pub¬ 
lic opinion, without judging it necessary 
to bespeak a little indulgence on his under¬ 
taking, that I am induced, through fear of 
falling under such a disadvantage, to pre¬ 
face the little I have to offer with a few 
remarks. 

During the Tour which gave rise to the 
following letters, it never once occurred to 
me, that I might ultimately be brought 




IV 


PREFACE. 

to submit them to the ordeal of criticism ; 
and therefore devoted little of my time, in 
the excursion, to that minuteness of obser¬ 
vation, and study of character, which alone 
could have rendered them a work of useful 
information. By this explanation I have 
of course shut myself out, even should my 
Tour succeed, from all claim to that higher 
class of praise, which is bestowed on works 
of laborious utility. 

r f 

■*- . .* 

To what degree of approbation I may 

• * 

lay my claim, with any prospect of suc¬ 
cess, I am at a loss to imagine; but as it 
must be presumed that I have not written 
with a total disregard to that, 1 will endea¬ 
vour, by defining the humble character of 
my labours, to show with how small a 
portion I am prepared to be satisfied. 

i y J X „ * J V - ^ ^ ‘ * 1 ' ' * ' ' , ‘ * \ 

In order to arrive at this point, and find 


y 


PREFACE. 


out precisely on what ground, as an author, 
I may be allowed an undisputed footing, 
I will not begin by essaying my title from 
the very lowest ranks of composition up¬ 
wards, lest, as I attempt to ascend, I may 
incur the charge of vainly aspiring above 
my rightful post: but if, from the mere 
love I have for better things, I take the 
heights of genius for my starting place, and 
commence my descent from thence, I shall 
be sure to find my proper station some¬ 
where in the declivity, though it may be 
at the very foot of the hill; and as, in my 
progress, I shall be ever on the decline till 
I reach my point, my worst enemies will 
not be able to charge me with a too aspir* 
ing spirit 

Genius, as it is not an acquirement of 
man, but a gift of nature, is, of itself, no 
mark of merit, but only of good fortune in 


/ 



VI 


PREFACE. 

the possessor of it; and however it may 
entitle him to our admiration, can give him 
no claim upon our praise. The use that is 
made of it can alone stamp its value, which 
must ever be estimated, accordingly as it 
operates towards the benefit or entertain¬ 
ment of mankind. In the first it takes 
precedency of all other endowments, in as 
much as its power to do good is constantly 

increasing by its invention of the means. 

..... * , , „ , » | 

This is, however, a class of excellence to 
which very few ever attain, and conse¬ 
quently a sacred ground, which my con¬ 
tracted faculties dare not presume to in¬ 
vade. The latter is of a more accessible 
nature, and may be trod, without much 
presumption, by all those who are able to 
throw an interest into common occur- 
rences, and fill up their deficiency of inci¬ 
dent from the stores of their own fancy. 


/ 


PREFACE. VII 

To give a more decided color to the modest 
tints of truth, and a degree of piquancy to 
what seems to require nothing else to 
render it palatable, is the province of this 
latter class of genius : yet humble as it may 
appear, I have not introduced it with an} r 
view of scooping out a niche, even there, 
to erect myself in, to fame. 

Having, however, descended thus far, I 
begin to feel my footing steadier, and that 
I am near upon the confines of the station 
where I may take my post. To come then, 
at length, to the little at which I aim—There 
is a kind of talent—I beg the critic's par¬ 
don, I mean a sort of—1 really don't 
know how to call it, but a something which 
has a knack of putting words together, till 
a kind of composition is effected, at which 
those who are not over fastidious contrive 
to feel somewhat amused. It is here I make 




y 11 t 


Preface. 

mj stand, and I think not sufficiently in 
any body's way to run much chance ot 
being molested. It is on the first step of 
the ladder to fame, and if by accident I 
should be jostled off, it won't much matter, 
as I have not far to fall. 

s I ' ' % ' - • . 

The ground-work of the letters I have 
published, is merely certain occurrences 
and objects that accidentally presented 
themselves in my progress through the 
country, and not any thing that I went 
in learned search after; with what degree 
of interest I have clothed them remains yet 
to be determined. The natural prejudice 
of every parent to magnify the merits and 
diminish the imperfections of its offspring* 
must of course render me the least impar¬ 
tial judge: yet, with all this, I am not suf¬ 
ficiently blinded to anticipate a much bet¬ 
ter reception of my work, than will serve 


i 


PHEFACE. ix 

to protect me from the charge of intrusion. 
To compare small things with great,—.the 
publication of a little Tour with the effect¬ 
ing of a vast revolution ;—like Caesar on 
the banks of the Rubicon, I remained long 
undecided on the point, calculating on the 
probabilities of success or failure ; unable 
to arrive at any adequate conclusion, and 
unwilling to abandon rny labors altogether"; 
like him, tired of further conjecture, I have 
thrown myself upon the hazard of my for¬ 
tunes, and crossed the river before I could 
decide upon the wisdom or folly of it. Here 
all resemblar ce between us is at an end, 
even in the comparison of great things with 
small;—he fought his way to empire and 
attained it—I seek no empire even of the 
pen, but only room sufficient to move it 
unmolested in, with neither suppleness 
enough to flatter, nor sharpness enough to 
wound. 


Tour . 


b 





X 


PREFACE. 


/ 


* 


Should it be found, in this its first essay, 
to yield one spark of pleasure, I shall be 
encouraged to hope that there is more 
latent fire within it, which requires nothing 
to call it forth but increased exertion,— 
and that it shall have ; but if otherwise, I 
am only like many more who have mistaken 
their vocation. Oh ! should it thus befal 
me,—thou drowsy genius! who presidest 
over dulness, here, once for all, I abjure 
thy influence :—I have been no willing vo- 
tarv of thine, nor ever will be—how thou 
hast eluded, if indeed thou hast, the vigi¬ 
lance of my once better spirit, and con¬ 
trived to steep me in thy laudanum baths, 
may be now too late to inquire; but if 
thou hast, take back into thy hands the 
symbols of thy service—the wreath of pop¬ 
pies and the leaden pen—for I will sin no 
more.—And oh! thou brighter genius! 
that I would have served, look down with 





PREFACE. 


XI 


pity from thy myrtle bower, and if in some 
auspicious line of what I have written, thou 
canst discern one flash,—one single spark 
of thine—rescue me, I beseech thee, from 
trunk-lining and tailor's-pattern memory, 
and let that solitary spark set fire to all the 
paper I have wasted, that behind the 
smoking pile of useless labor, I may steal 
unnoticed into calm oblivion. 






































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A TOUR 


<$c. <§r. 


LETTER I. 

Calais , June , 1817. 

On our arrival at Dover we found the Dart ready 
for sea, and stept from our chaise on board without 
the usual ceremony of alighting at an hotel; my 
anticipation, then about to realize itself, of sojourn¬ 
ing for a while among a race of beings so distinct 
from ourselves in manners and habits, though sepa¬ 
rated from us by only a narrow channel, entirely 
absorbed my thoughts, and presented a thousand 
pictures to my imagination, of man in all the variety 
in which education and climate can present him. 
The wind was fair and brisk, and brought us into 
liie harbor of Calais in the midst of my reverie. 
Here ended my thoughtful mood. I felt in landing, 
as if I had been touched by the magic influence of 
Tour . A 


2 


A TOUR 


the place, for I moved forward towards the Hotel de 
Lion d’Argent, no longer in the steady English 
stride, but actually to the measure of some lively 
air that seemed to be played by the very Zephyrs 
which we breathed. Music ushered us into our 
apartments, we dressed under its inspiring influence, 
and may actually be said to have danced to dinner; 
our orders to the gar 9 ons were executed in a pas 
de deux, and we drank each other’s healths to the 
tune of Marlbrouk. As I cannot bear things done 
by halves, and the French will give you music for 
nothing, if you will not pay for it, and that too with 
almost as good a grace, I determined, for the credit 
of my country, not to be outdone in liberality, so 
ordered a party into our dining-room, who enter¬ 
tained us, during our repast, with a concert, vocal 
and instrumental, executed with good taste. Having 
satisfied them and ourselves on this head, I began 
to balance my mind to its original tone, for I had 
work to perform which required the aid of notes, 
very distinct from those we had just received ; but 
at least as necessary to be played by us in turn. 
We were about to explore a few hundred miles of 
the land of our new acquaintance, and were yet 
without the means of conveyance. I sent for the 








ON THE CONTINENT. 


3 


Maitre d’Hotel, who strongly advised my adopting 
his recommendation, which was to hire a carriage 
and pair of him for the whole of the tour, return¬ 
ing of course to Calais. The only objection to his 
plan was the expense, which would have consider¬ 
ably exceeded English posting ; I therefore applied 
to Monsieur Peliser, a voiturier, who has furnished 
us with a good carriage, much resembling an Eng¬ 
lish barouch, sufficiently large for three, (which 
you know is our number), and for which we are to 
pay him about a guinea per day. 

. * V_ . i 

In the hurry of preparing to quit this place, I 
had almost forgotten to tell you, that in order to 
fill up the time while Monsieur Peliser is himself 
engaged (for a Frenchman is never above his busi¬ 
ness) in brushing up our conveyance, that he may 
bring it nearer to the extravagant praise he had be¬ 
stowed on its beauty, we went to view the church 
of Notre Dame. The building itself is grand, and 
the order chiefly Gothic ; but the coup d’ceil of the 
interior is completely spoiled, by the wretched ap¬ 
pearance of immense piles of old rush bottom 
chairs, filthy, and unrepaired, with scores of beg¬ 
gars half naked and quite famished, who never 




A TOUR. 


cease their importunity for bread, from the moment 
you enter to that when you depart; but though this 
materially interferes with the object of a visit of this 
sort, yet one cannot be angry with them, for he 
must have a churlish nature, or a thoughtless mind, 
who can quarrel with importunity in such a garb ; 
there is no remedy however; you cannot minutely 
examine the place; but enough of this, I fear, we 
shall have to encounter in our progress through a 
country, which, from its soil and climate, might pass 
for the garden to the rest of Europe. Good God! 
in what consists the wisdom or justice of man, when 
so immense a portion of our fellow creatures are 
starving on their own fertile plains ? I must quit the 
gloomy picture : Monsieur Peliser has arrived with 
our barouch, and the dissonance of the cocher’s 
whip, which is at this moment smacking a French 
cotilion, has put all arrangement of ideas out of my 
head. We proceed first to Brussels. I shall resume 
my narrative when we arrive there, as I mean to 
stop eight or ten days in that city. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


5 


LETTER II. 

Brussels. 

In the vehicle I have described to you, drawn by 
a pair of good horses, under the management of 
a cocher, who seems to have no other care than that 
of the establishment inside and out, which had been 
entrusted to him, we quitted Calais, and launched 
forth into this world of life; and if to live consist 
in bustle and pursuit of pleasure, we had only vege¬ 
tated up to that hour, we had not lived. Oh life! 
in how many different shapes and complexions art 
thou painted? To traverse the bleak mountain’s 
summit; to brave the tempest, wearied out with toil; 
to eat the scanty meal from barren soils, and rest 
the limbs within the roofless hut; still this is life. 
Oh Cambrian, in thy hills ; yet are you not without 
your share of joy—The harp still vibrates through 
your cragged rocks, and the rude dance declares 
the rustic pleasure of your wild abode. 

On our arrival at Dunkirk, we ordered dinner at 
THotel d’Angleterre, and took a ramble about the 


6 


A TOUR 


town while it was preparing. Our first attraction 
was the church of St. Allowin. Its entrance is a 
beautiful portico supported by fluted columns, with 
a triangular superstructure bearing a religious em¬ 
blem on its centre. The interior consists of a nave 
with double aisles, each ending in a richly deco¬ 
rated altar; near the entrance of the outer aisles, 
and facing each other, are two more altars, imme¬ 
diately beyond which are the confessionals; during 
our stay there, the priest returned with the sacra¬ 
ment, escorted by a soldier on each side : he had 
been to administer to a dying person : this it seems 
is the usual practice on such occasions. The altar 
which terminates the nave is extremely beautiful, 
with paintings of the first masters adorning the sides 
of the sanctuary ; behind this is a semicircular walk, 
which divides it from an altar in the rear. As I 
have not the talent, nor, indeed, the time if I had, 
to give a more architectural detail, you must be sa¬ 
tisfied with the picture, and pardon the deficiency 
of light and shade. The other church, St. Jean 
Baptiste, is neat and commodious, but much in¬ 
ferior. 

There is a certain indescribable sensation which 
I always feel, (and perhaps it is the same with all 




ON THE CONTINEET. 


7 


mankind) on entering a structure dedicated to the 
author of ail that was—that is—and that is to be— 
a chilliness pervades the frame, and seems at once to 
shrivel up the pride-swollen mortal (warm before 
in his own self-importance) into the little being 
which he really is; as if the Great Spirit had said, here 
ends your self-delusion; whate’er your wealth, what- 
e’er your influence with mankind without these 
walls, here you are nothing:—bow, humble mortal, 
into thy natal humility; the life, even, which you 
breathe, you hold in favor from me. 

\ 

Having returned to our hotel in a fit mood to 
partake of the blessings administered to us, we sat 
down with grateful hearts to the enjoyment of our 
repast, and spent the evening in regulating the 
manner in which we should pursue our journey. 

On the following morning we proceeded towards 
Ypres, in French Flanders; but prior to setting 
off*, we took another ramble in the town. It 
was beautiful weather, and every thing looked gay 
about us; what with the anticipation of a thousand 
new objects every day, and the actual scene before 
us, for the market-place, at which we were, was 




8 


A TOUR 


crowded with groups of young French women, (the 
peasantry) who had come to sell their fruit, vegeta¬ 
bles, and poultry—all this acting on the mind at 
once, completely dissipated our native English 
gloom, and produced a flow of high spirits, a sort 
of sethereal intoxication, in which one does a hun¬ 
dred things bv the dictates of the heart, rather than 
the judgment. On such occasions, forgetful of 
decorum, I have almost persuaded myself that all 
mankind are equal, and could have joined in the 
dance with the humblest peasant girl, without con¬ 
ceiving myself a jot degraded by it. I would not be 
without the nature that inspired that feeling, to be 
the greatest thing the want of it could make me. 
High spirits have however their disadvantages, for 
I am never in that mood, but I could spend thrice 
as much as when the denseness of our atmosphere 
retards the circulation; and stepping into a shop 
close by, with my companions, we purchased a 
number of articles, merely because they were French, 
and found out a short time after, that we did not 
want them, and that if we did, we should be able 
to buy them in Paris, where they had been made, 
for half the amount. No matter, it was necessary 
to do something, and I might easily have done a 










ON THE CONTINENT. 


9 


more foolish thing than this. Just prior to our en¬ 
tering Ypres, the beauty of the day suddenly 
changed, and a violent thunder storm ushered us 
into the town; the rain fell in torrents, and the 
tremendous peals seemed to have panic-struck the 
guard, for we entered this fortification without hav¬ 
ing our passports demanded. 

This was the first town in Flanders at which we 
refreshed, if refreshed it can be called, to have 
dined on meat and fish dressed together in fat, and 
with wine that made us regret the table beer we had 
left behind us in England; but we started with 
minds prepared for privations, for we expected to 

find taste vary with country, and luxury is after all 

• 

but a name which each man gives to what his appetite 
most desires; and the Princesses of Caffraria, who 
fried and devoured the boots of their father’s guest, 
were as good judges of a delicacy in their own taste, 
as the city alderman over his turtle in his. By-the- 
bye, the garc^on at this inn is a perfect fac totum, 
who blends in his own person the entire service of 
the hotel establishment, save that of the kitchen, 
which duty, from the description I have given you 
of our entertainment, (had this too fallen to his lot) 







10 


A TOUR 



could not have suffered by the change; he makes all 
the beds, cleans the boots, &c. prepares the several 
dining-rooms, and waits at dinner, assists in the 
stables whenever uncalled by the guests, and is never 
at leisure till sleep has silenced the almost unceasing 
call of those about him; he is nevertheless one of 
the civilest and best natured creatures I ever met 
with. Fortune has denied thee her favors and her 
smiles, but nature has been even with her, in giving 
thee a temper that repines not at the hardship of thy 
lot, and helps thee over thy rough and flinty way $ 
and will do this for thee to the end of thy journey. 

About two o’clock in the morning I was awoke 
by a tapping at my door: it was Francis; I let him 
in, and with a piteous face he told me, and in a 
whisper too, lest, I suppose, the police should hear 
him, that an express had arrived late in the night, 
from London, to apprehend an Englishman, and 
that from the description he was fearful it was me. 
I asked him what was to be done in case his sus¬ 
picions were just; he told me there was no time to 
be lost, as PIntendant de la Police would be there 
at four o’clock to examine me. But what am I to 
do, Frangois ? II faut echapper. Monsieur. Mais com- 




ON THE CONTINENT. 


II 


ment ? said I. Ma fois, Monsieur, je n'en sais rien. 
So then, said I, you have come to disturb my rest 
for no other purpose, than to tell me two hours 
before my time of an evil which I cannot escape; 

I sent him away, however, assuring him of my in¬ 
nocence, and telling him to introduce l’lntendant as 
soon as he pleased. He was not satisfied, I am sure, 
with my assertion, for his look on leaving the room 
was truly expressive of his pity for my condition ; 
an Englishman would have showed this by a sigh, 
full indeed of compassion, but nothing when com¬ 
pared with the shrug which Francis gave on quit¬ 
ting my chamber, unperceived as he thought, but 
reflected in the glass which faced the opening of the 
half closed door. 

* 

L’lntendant will be here, said I to myself, in a lit¬ 
tle time, and I must get up and dress myself at this 
unseasonable hour for his reception, restless and 
vexed with the intrusion. How much is man the 
creature of habit; and taught by necessity, he is 
brought to endure the sting of rigor without 
repining. Francis thought nothing of the intru¬ 
sion on sleep ; he had been himself accustomed to 
that, and made no apology for breaking in upon 


12 


A TOUR 


mine; his sole anxiety was for my escape, and when 
he found my innocence rendered that unnecessary, 
he was satisfied, there was no harm done on either 
side. L’Intendant saw no resemblance in me to the 
picture he had received from London, and I was 
again at my own disposal. 

The bad accommodation of this place induced 
me to leave it as early in the morning as possible, 
and we proceeded to Menin to breakfast; the 
storm of the preceding evening had refreshed the 
air, and the cool breezes of the morning greatly 
assisted in dispelling the vexation of a restless night 
and unsavory meal. To tell the truth, I was pleased 
with the early pursuit of our journey, not only on 
account of the freshness of the morning, but because 
it took me away, with rapid strides, from a place 
which looked like the residence of suspicion. How¬ 
ever necessary in the calculations of war, there is 
no place I abhor like a fortified town; you are ex¬ 
amined at the entrance and exit, and the place of 
your temporary residence is noted down; you can 
hardly be said to breathe, but on sufferance, and your 
progress is watched as it were step by step, till 
you have passed the outer guard. England ! with 








ON THE CONTINENT. 


13 


all thy imperfections thou hast here at least the pre- 

% 

ference, and though necessity require the rigor I 
lament in other lands, still, from local advantages, 
thou art free from this. The sea is thy armour, 
and liberty thy shield, which the swords of thy 
enemies can never penetrate, till the rust of thy 
own neglect shall mark its vulnerable parts; pre¬ 
serve it from decay, for thou hast nothing left when 
that is gone. Thy soil and thy climate are little in 
the scale of comparison ; and stript of liberty, thou 
wilt become the last on the list of nations, for thy 
strength and thy riches are built on that foundation. 

Having breakfasted, we proceeded to Courtray, 
a neat manufacturing town, where we stopped to 
refresh our horses, and spent the time required, in 
walking about the streets; the place appeared to 
me deserted, for excepting the Maitre d’Hotel, and 
about a score of beggars, I scarcely saw a human 
being. I thought of Goldsmith’s Deserted Village, 
and saw the melancholy picture realized; the 
ravages of war had thinned their habitations, and 
famine was hard at work on what the sword had 
left unfinished. 


14 


A TOUR 


We now resumed our seats, and pursued our jour¬ 
ney to Petighem, where we passed the remainder of 
the day. I think I hear you exclaim, well! yon 
have reached another town, now for the church 
and Gothic arches! you may laugh, but you shall 
have it notwithstanding ; it would be cruelty to the 
poor inhabitants to be quite silent on this head; 
they have little to show you but their church and 
their poverty, their rich paintings and their poor 
artists. Notre Dame, for this is the name of the 
church in question, is paved in the Mosaic stile, in 
diamonds of black and white marble. The entrance 
to the sanctuary is through a folding oak portal, 
whose pannels are richly carved entirely through 
the solid wood to resemble Flemish lace; within this 
is a fine painting by Jordance, of the Shepherds’ 
Offerings ; this picture was seized by the French 
early in the revolution, when the town was taken; 
but a painter residing there, named Cras, contrived 
to get it away, notwithstanding the soldiers had 
possession, and he preserved it in its hiding place, 
till the property of the church became again 
respected, when it was restored to its original 
situation. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


15 


We left Petighem early on the following morn¬ 
ing, and arrived at Ghent to breakfast; it was Sun¬ 
day, and all the town, in their gay attire, were 
moving onward like a forming army to their rally¬ 
ing points. Whatever difference may exist in the re¬ 
ligious opinions of men, there is but one ultimate 
object that they can have in view; to be happy 
when called away from their sojournment here, is 
the common prayer of all mankind. On this point 
at least w r e all unite, and to this end were the popu¬ 
lation of Ghent then moving on. The example re¬ 
minded us of our duty too, and before we pro¬ 
ceeded further, we returned thanks that we had 
been enabled to reach so far ; for life is a journey, 
and at some post or other of it we shall find the 
mandate of limitation waiting our arrival. At five 
in the afternoon we reached Alost, where we re¬ 
mained for the day; having ordered dinner we went 
as usual to see the church; yes, notwithstanding the 
tautology of subject, we visited the church ; you see 

I have not yet furnished you with an opportunity 

/ 

to charge me with following pleasure to the neglect 
of that; true, say you, but wait till you arrive at 
Paris; we are all moral while we have no temptation 
to lead us astray. I admit the rebuke, for I have 


16 


A TOUR 


passed through towns but not lived in them, and 
what I have hitherto seen has been more the beauty 
of nature, than the allurements of art. 

We visited the church of St. Martin, which, like 
the others that we had seen, was far too grand for 
the town which it embellished. To see a magnifi¬ 
cent structure towering over all around it, bearing 
the venerable stamp of ages on its bosom, and en¬ 
closing within the generations of a thousand years; 
the mind is awed in contemplation of its grandeur, 
and for a moment lost to all surrounding objects : 
we are lifted, by the imagination, to the immortality 
in which the souls now breathe, that once informed 
the silent tenants it encircles. The needy crowd 
here roused me from the reverie into which my 
fancy had strayed, and in a moment I found myself 
surrounded by wretched tenements, irregular and 
unrepaired, and more wretched beings covered with 
rags and filth. 

The church of St. Martin has twenty-four altars, 
at every one of which mass is performed on certain 
occasions at the same time. There is a most beau¬ 
tiful painting by Reubens, at one of these, of St. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


17 


Roque, with two smaller ones underneath it, being 
a continuation of the story; they were covered with 
baize, which at our request was removed. 

I know not how it is, but I cannot for the life 
of me abstract myself from intruding objects, so as 
to pursue uninterruptedly, that which it is my first 
wish to examine; and here this imperfection of 

i 

mine was particularly manifest, for the beggars, 
wanting almost every thing for their own comfort, 
were however amply provided with the means of 
annoying mine; for wooden shoes are a luxury of 
which they have not been yet deprived, and on these 
clattering pedestals they followed us step by step, 
stopping at every point where our curiosity arrested 
us, and renewing their dissonant march, with the 
first signal of our advance. I quitted the church 
with little but the subject and fine colouring of the 
paintings, and left the master touches of the pencil 

s 

to those, whose nerves may be callous to the inter¬ 
ruption. I retired dissatisfied indeed, but not angry; 
for I had no right to complain, who had paid no¬ 
thing for the forbearance of our followers; and 
they had at least as good a title as I had, to traverse 
the aisles of a cathedral, which, poor as they were. 

Tour. B 



18 


A TOUR 


their ancestors in all probability had helped to erect; 
and I know not whose fault it was, that they did 
not precede instead of following us. On arriving at 
our hotel, we found that our attendants at St. Mar¬ 
tin had done us some good even in their annoyance, 
for they had driven us from the church just in time 
to save our dinner, which had been waiting for us. 
I could not think of paying them for their interrup¬ 
tion, but I was not sorry for an opportunity to com¬ 
pensate them for thus enabling us to reach our/ 
repast in time. I ordered some white bread to be 
distributed amongst them, which was devoured 
with an avidity which we seldom see in our beggars 
in England; and those who are obliged to eat what 
cattle would refuse, must have found this a luxury 
indeed; whether idleness or want of work be the 
cause of this distress, I know not, nor would the 
opportunity of my transient stay among them enable 
me to learn. They were always sober, even from 
the account of those who spoke worst of them, and 
with this virtue they might perhaps be industrious 
too, if pains were taken to rouse them from the 
torpor of their fallen condition. 

The gar$on, in lighting me to my bed-room, (for 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


19 


we have no chambermaids here,) told me that 
Lord Uxbridge had slept in it just before the battle 
of Waterloo ; Well! said I, and what of that? If 
there be any virtue in it, the person who lay in it 
after him has had it all. Who slept here last night ? 
C’etoit un etranger;—Yes! said I, he was no lord it 
seems, for you have taken no note of him; he might 
easily however have been as good a man, and I have 
no objection to be his successor. To tell the truth 
I was tired; and though I felt a trifle for the title of 
the room, I did not care to entertain the conversa¬ 
tion with which the important subject seemed to 
have inspired my guide. 

We breakfasted on the following morning at the 
little village of Assch, and from an eminence, about 
an hour s journey onward,we had the full view of the 
city of Brussels, which presented a very grand and 
extensive appearance; it is built on a hill, and de¬ 
scends on the side we entered at, to its base. The 
town is tolerably handsome taken as a whole, but 
the streets are much too narrow, and bear no pro¬ 
portion to the height of their houses. The town 
hall is a fine structure with a very lofty turret, and 
has completely the appearance of a church. As 1 


20 


A TOUR 


only reached this city the day before yesterday, I 
can give you but little account of it in this letter, 
but mean to resume the subject on our arrival at 
Paris, and shall then begin where I leave off in this. 
I mean to stay here about ten days longer, and what 
I can collect in that space of time, together with my 
adventures on the journey to the French capital, 
shall form the subject of my next. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


21 


LETTER III. 


Paris. 

J. have been eight-and-forty hours in this city, 
and as many times I believe I have taken up my pen 
to write to you, and redeem the pledge I gave in 
my last of resuming my narrative; but I have as 
oiten laid it down again, bewildered with the noise 
and confusion that seem to preside in one unceasing 
revel over this emporium of pleasure]—this maga¬ 
zine of gaieties! where art and science appear di¬ 
rected to no other end, than to dress up mirth in 
all the variety of colouring, that the genius of de¬ 
light can inspire them with. Up to this hour I am 
unable to rally my scattered senses, or arrange my 
journey hither in any rational form or order. I will 
devote this day however to the occupation, and do 
the best I can with my subject; I know the indul¬ 
gence which my descriptions will meet with, how¬ 
ever tiresome or deficient of spirit, and whether I 
gallop or creep through the narration, I have vanity 
enough to believe that it will be full of interest, not 
indeed from the value of the detail, but on account 


/ 


/ 



22 


A TOUR 


of the good opinion you have of the narrator. I pro¬ 
ceed therefore without fear, and write to you in the 
same manner that I think to myself. 

After I wrote to you at Brussels, I went with my 
companions to see the park there; it is situated at 
the very summit of the town, and is eligible on ac¬ 
count of its airy and healthful site; and this, I la¬ 
ment to say, is its only recommendation. Its plan is 
sameness itself; heavy formality pervades the whole, 
and I can compare it to nothing so apposite, except¬ 
ing in extent, as a tea-garden, which is here and 
there to be found disfiguring the environs of our 
metropolis. Two rows of lime trees, about twenty 
feet apart, form the borders of some dozen gravel 
walks, all cast as it were in the same mould ; and 
excepting that a trumpery statue of Venus disfigures 
this, and a high and broad shouldered Apollo that, 
you might traverse the entire of this studied waste, 
without knowing that you had quitted the prome¬ 
nade at which you entered. A bason filled by the 
spouting of a little cupid in a wig, or some such 
figure, is the graceful finish to the walks which di¬ 
verge from the grand promenades. One side of the 
square which forms the exterior of this park, (as it 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


23 


is called,) is a court of justice, and what might be 
termed one of the wings of this building, is the 
palace, or rather residence of the Prince of Orange; 
the other sides are formed of handsome houses in 
which the officers of state, and the first families of 
the place reside. 

The natives consider the scenery of this spot a 
sort of elysium $ and perhaps it is so: for what 
business have I to set myself up against the universal 
opinion of a large city ? my taste is certainly against 
it, and I have the voice of nature to back that; but 
the Brabanters are more the votaries of art, and 
their park was constructed to please themselves, 
not me, and it seems to have succeeded to a miracle 
in both instances. 

On returning to our hotel I sent for our cocher, 
to desire he would have the barouche ready as soon 
as we had dined, for a drive to the palace of Lacken, 
the residence of the king of the Netherlands. Ma 
fois! monsieur, est-il possible ? said he with a true 
French shrug, I have just finished the polishing of 
it, and trimming the horses for to-morrow; And 
why particularly for to-morrow, said I ? C’est la fete 









24 


A TOUR 


de Waterloo, said he ; all the English families at the 
hotel have ordered their carriages for six in the 
morning, and tout le monde will be there; Very 
well, said I, of course we will not on any account 
be left out then, and we will go to Lacken the day 
after. 

As we learnt from our garcon, that there was no 
good accommodation at, or near Waterloo, we 
provided ourselves with cold provisions; and after a 
refreshing sleep we took an early breakfast, and set 
out for the scene of that bloody day ; we passed 
through a part of the immense forest of Soigny, 
and here we saw the still remaining vestiges of the 
ravage of war. The wants of the army had thinned 
the foremost ranks of this stately wild, and the 
ashes of their bivouack still left the traces of their 
devastating progress. After traversing nearly three 
leagues of this shady course, made so welcome by 
a cloudless sun, we reached the village from which 
the battle took its name ; here having refreshed our 
horses, we proceeded to the field so lately deluged 
with the blood of conflicting nations. So strongly 
upon my mind was the contest of that awful day, 
that nothing but a dreary waste covered with the 









ON THE CONTINENT. 


25 


skeletons of men and horses appeared in my fancy’s 
eye; and there I saw the yet unburied thousands 
writhing in death’s embrace, impatient at his tardy 
progress through their lingering ranks. Spirits of 
the brave! whether of friend or foe, rest ye in 
peace, for ne’er again shall war’s rude clangor wake 
ye—rest in your iron shrouds! the cannon’s roar 
shall never reach your blood-stained sepulchres— 
Peace to your manes!—the corn waves lightly o’er 
your trackless graves, and the sweet smile of nature 
has covered the gloomy desolation. 

I must quit the scene ;—descriptions enough have 
been given of the bloody proceedings, and I could 
throw no further interest into the gloomy picture. 
We took our refreshment at the wretched house of 
La Belle Alliance, which bears evident marks of the 
thunder of that day, and then returned to Brussels 
overpowered with the excessive heat. I had almost 
forgotten to tell you, that our gar$on and cocher 
were wrong in informing us, that the fete was to 
have been that day at Waterloo; it was held in the 
city on the anniversary, and was celebrated on the 
19th, on the field of battle j I was not sorry at the 
mistake, for the heat must have been intolerable* 













I 


26 A TOUR 

when aggravated by the dust consequent on a large 
concourse of people. I learnt afterwards, that there 
had been nothing to see worth notice, so was glad 
we had otherwise employed ourselves, and this we 
did by visiting the gallery of paintings. 

Though I cannot discuss the respective merits of 
the pictures, yet I will enumerate a part, at least, of 
those which I saw. The conversion of St. Bavo; 
the Martyrdom of St. Livin ; the Whipping of 
our Saviour; the Assumption of the Virgin (which 
had just been restored from the Louvre at Paris); 
and the Descent from the Cross; all by Rubens. 
In the painting of the Martyrdom I was particularly 
struck with the purity of countenance, the meek re¬ 
signation of the martyr, whose eyes are actually 
speaking for the tongue of which he had just been 
deprived; they seem as if they said—I bow with pa¬ 
tience, Oh Lord! to thy divine will, and in imitation 
of thy mild example, I crave thy mercy on my exe¬ 
cutioners. The demoniacal expression of the savage 
who holds the blood-stained knife between his tight 
pressed lips, is, in my opinion, the ultimatum of the 
infernal. There is but one painting by Vandyke, 
which is the Elevation of the Cross. The works of 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


27 


Gaspard de Crayer, are the Triumph of St. Catha¬ 
rine; the Miraculous Draught of Fishes; and St. 
Antony and St. Paul, as Hermits ; the Repose of 
Diana, by Mignard, is a beautiful performance; as 
also the Adoration of the Shepherds, by Paul Ve¬ 
ronese. Christ in the Sepulchre, by Michael An¬ 
gelo de Caravaggio, is considered a master piece; 
but age or accident has rendered its beauties less 
conspicuous to my limited judgment. There is a 
fine little picture, but I could not learn the artist, 
of a Flemish Boy examining a piece of gold coin; it 
is nature itself. 

This exhibition, together with the museum of 
natural history completely engaged our time till 
dinner; you must not expect any thing like an ac¬ 
count of what I saw here, my letters would thus be¬ 
come rather tedious than interesting, for however 
useful the information, it is too dry for narrative, 
and I could communicate but little amusement in 
the detail. One thing at least I must speak of on 
account of its extraordinary nature; the Americans, 

I forget the year, in order to destroy the Dutch ship¬ 
ping in the Texel, conveyed there several casks of a 
peculiar worm, which they empted into those waters;, 










‘28 


A TOUR 


the result was, that they ate their way into the hulks 
of the vessels, which in a short time became com¬ 
pletely rotten; a piece of the timber, thus rendered 
useless, is preserved in spirits at this cabinet, con¬ 
taining still the destructive agents in the holes which 
they had made. I mention this circumstance be¬ 
cause I do not remember that we have any such cu¬ 
riosity at our British Museum. 

We next went to see the abbey of St. Gudule. 
I am not certain that I have spelt the Saint’s name 
rightly, for she is a perfect stranger to me, though 
patroness of the city; and this piece of ignorance 
may easily be forgiven, when it is considered that 
she was introduced without any previous notice, out 
of a list of eleven thousand, which I believe is the 
number of the canonised; I have, however, spelt 
it agreeably to the pronunciation, and you may 
depend on the sound at least, if not on the ortho¬ 
graphy. 

By this time I am sure you must be tired of my 
descriptions of this nature, and so conscious am I 
of it, that you see I have abandoned my usual me¬ 
thod of introducing the church to you as my first 







ON THE CONTINENT. 


29 


acquaintance in every new town; I must not how¬ 
ever neglect the subject altogether, but will bring it 
to your notice, in as novel a manner as circumstances 
will permit. Its order of architecture is much the 
same as that of the other churches of the Nether¬ 
lands, and it has nothing of which I would speak in 

particular, but the fine paintings on glass. The most 

/ 

ancient performance of this sort is on the left side 
as you face the altar, the colouring of which is su¬ 
perb,—that on the right, though it appears rich, (if 
examined first) is very inferior to the other. It was 
a priest of the establishment who was our guide, 
and he explained to us every thing worthy of 
notice. 

r 

I must confess, and you who know me so well 
will have no trouble in comprehending me, that I 
was much annoyed on his account, and deterred 
from making a thousand enquiries, for I was con- 
stantly teasing myself as to what I should do to com¬ 
pensate his civility. It was not the amount, for I 
would gladly have paid a louis d’or to have got rid 
of the doubt; but he was a gentleman and a scholar, 
and I would not insult him with that. I could give 
you an account of the fine pulpit, but he was ex- 


30 


A TOUR 


plaining the richly-carved emblems during the height 
of my perplexity, and whatever my companions may 
remember of it, I was totally lost to every thing, 
but how I should repay him for his trouble and po¬ 
liteness. What was I to do ? I observed a native 
of the place advancing towards us; well! thought I, 
he may understand these things, so I’ll e’en whis¬ 
per him as to the custom; I did not like to do it, 
but there was no alternative; in all the churches 
we had hitherto visited, our guides had every visible 
mark of interest in their courtesy:—here it was 
quite another thing, and stepping aside, as if to look 
at a painting, I made the painful enquiry; what was 
my astonishment when the stranger having eyed the 
Reverend Divine from top to toe with the utmost 
significance; Donnez lui un franc, said he, and left 
me petrified at the indignity. Donnez lui un franc! 
said I, yes,—I see you are a native of the place, 
your niggardly spirits have chilled the sensibility of 
nature, and you recommend to others the penury 
you adopt yourselves; but for the starving condition 
to which your avarice has reduced your spiritual 
guides, this Divine, this Gentleman, and Scholar, 
had not been driven to the necessity of bartering 
civility for bread. I could not follow the advice I 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


31 


had sought, even in giving ten times the amount, 
and I conferred a compliment on myself, not on 
him, when I solicited his company to dinner at our 
hotel, and here, in the conviviality of his disposition, 
his gentlemanly deportment, and intelligent mind, 
I found that I had only increased the obligation 
which his first attention to us had laid me under: I 
could not be quits with him for the life of me, and 
I feel myself his debtor still. I shook him heartily 
by the hand at parting, and retired to rest; but the 
recollection of the adventures of the day followed 
me to my pillow, and kept me watchful beyond my 
usual time. 

To want fortune, said I, in the estimation of ‘the 
world, is to want every thing; neither education, 

i 

nor talents, nor all the other requisites to embellish 
life, can compensate the want of that. I’ll think 
no more of it, it only makes me melancholy, and 
can answer no good end ; so turning in my bed, I 
invoked the genius of sleep, who on all occasions 
had been more kind to me than the fickle goddess, 
and passed in sweet transition from her scurvy treat¬ 
ment both of the poor priest and myself, into the 


32 


A TOUR 


regions of fiction, and found in her imaginary reign 
a transient relief from the neglect of fortune. 

The following morning we loitered about the 
town, but met with no adventure worth recording. 
I am not much of a lounger myself, and feel little 
interest where I have not some positive object to 
pursue; and to be one in Brussels, is to waste time 
indeed. To admire elegance of deportment and 
dress in the females of any country, is much in re¬ 
turn for the time it requires of us, and I have never 
been displeased with myself, when a morning’s 
lounge has been thus rewarded; but in Brussels 
you have little chance of this; excepting that here 

and there an English or French lady embellishes the 

* 

promenade, you have nothing to admire. The Fle¬ 
mish women (with only one exception that I could 
make during my stay,) are not stamped in that fine 
mould from whence the graces issue; they are tall 
enough indeed, but they are thick and shapeless too, 
and however regardless of expense they may be in 
decorating such forms, they have not the art of set¬ 
ting themselves off to advantage; they are deficient 
in that simplicity of taste, which, generally speaking. 




ON THE CONTINENT. 


35 


is peculiar to our own country-women $ these some- 
times indeed run into extremes, because the very 
height of real grace to which they constantly aspire, 
is nearest to the boundary which separates it from 
extravagance, and the effort to reach the one will 
sometimes impel them to the other ; but their own 
good judgment soon restores them to their former 
limits of discretion* 

The Brabanters are a heavy people, of few words, 
and less expression: they are eternally smoking 
their pipes, which they reluctantly withdraw from 
their mouths to answer your interrogatories; but / 
have no reason to complain of this, since the ladies 
can inspire them with no higher respect; and I have 
seen, not unfrequently, a gentleman, as he should 
be at least from his rank in life, addressing a lady in 
inarticulate sounds from one side of his mouth, 
while with the other he was bursting upon her, as 
from a volcano, till they were both lost in one im¬ 
penetrable cloud. The French cannot bear the Bel¬ 
gians, for their want of manners and respect to their 
women j and in this I cordially agree with them, 
though I cannot but think, that in order to avoid 
one extreme, the Parisians have run into another. 

Tour . C 



34 


A TOUR 


though by no means so reprehensible. They overdo 
these things ; and in their anxiety to keep up their 
national character for politeness, they are guilty 
of a thousand extravagances. There is nothing 
which distresses a Frenchman so much as an omis¬ 
sion on this head. It is the wound on his fame for 
politesse, however, which pains him more, much 
more than the consciousness that the lady has been 
deprived of a portion of the civility which is her 
due. A Frenchman has a character at stake in this 
respect, and he would not for the world that it 
should be called in question: he has thrown the 
gauntlet to the universe, and there is nothing would 
astonish him so much as to see a champion who 
dare pick it up. But I am wandering from my sub¬ 
ject. I have not got you into France yet, and should 
withhold my opinion on French manners till then. 

In the afternoon we took a drive to see the palace 
of Lacken, the residence of the king of the Nether¬ 
lands, about a German league from Brussels. It 
is very pleasantly situated on the summit of a ver¬ 
dant hill, commanding an extensive view. We could 
not procure admission to the interior of the palace, 
as their majesties were then residing in it j so we 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


35 


were obliged to console ourselves with a ramble 
about its vicinity. I am not aware that we lost much 
by the disappointment, for its exterior impressed me 
with little,' if any idea, beyond the splendor of 

many of the mansions of our English nobility. 

_ > 

On the following morning I took a solitary stroll, 
as a farewell visit, to the park, of which I have not 
been sparing in my comment; indeed I ought to 
have done so on the score of charity, for I had been 
out of temper with it, and I could not bear to quit 
the city without some endeavour at reconciliation : 
but we could not make it up to the satisfaction of 
either. I had not influence enough to convert the 
waste into a useful meadow, and in its present tem¬ 
per there was no coming to terms with it. As I was 
turning my back on it, perhaps for ever, a couple 
of French flower girls, French I say, for I am sure 
no other country than France could have given to 
want, the mirth and pleasantry of minds at ease, 
danced up to me in all the air and taste of better 
life, tendering their bouquets, and seeming to en¬ 
treat my acceptance of them. As I had not been 
accustomed to be thus solicited by our Covent Gar¬ 
den retailers, I was for a moment at a loss how to 


I 


36 ' A TOUR 

act; to pass them by in contempt was quite impos¬ 
sible ; there was too much good humour about them 
for that; so giving them a franc between them, they 
decorated my bosom in spite of my resistance, and 
dismissed me with an air of courtesy, the exercise 
of which is considered in France as much the grace 
of the hovel as of the court; and so perhaps it 
ought to be every where, for civility cements so¬ 
ciety, and though it cannot straighten the crooked 
path of life, it smooths the surface of the rugged 
way, and holds an arm to the exhausted traveller 
at every stile that intercepts his progress. 

I went to see the ceremony of mass at the church 
of St. Gudule, and here a poor old man shabbily 
attired, and nearly blind, had just been receiving the 
sacrament: he was feeling his way from the sanctuary 
along the side of one of the aisles, as well as his in¬ 
firmity of sight would permit; but making bad 
work of it, I wished myself nearer to him that I 
might have rendered the assistance he stood so much 
in need of. He was at one of those stiles to which 
I have alluded, and I was fearful that the helping 

X 

arm was not awaiting him, for we were still among 
the heavy Brabanters, who seem too intent upon 





ON THE CONTINENT. 


37 


their own affairs to spare a little to the call of 
others. But I was mistaken, for a lady nearer to 
; him than myself, and who seemed to be actuated by 
my own feelings, immediately tendered her arm, 
and would have conducted him to her chair; but 
his object was to quit the church, and with the 
air and ease of a perfect gentleman he returned 
her to her seat, and bowing in the most graceful 
manner for her politeness to him, he proceeded 
through the church.—Oh what a grace do manners 
give to man! it is not the purple that dignifies the 
prince; it is not his diadem that makes him noble; 
his throne and all its jewels could not make the 
clown respectable; nor could they him without the 
grace of manners; yet dignity and grace can shine 
through rags, and so they did in this poor man, who 
once had been a gentleman, even in the opinion of 
those who judge by stile alone; and though no longer 
so to such, he had not altered. The times had 
changed ; the storm of revolution had been laying 
waste; the lightning had struck the equipage, but 
not the man; he had outlived his fortune, and was 
now travelling barefoot through the last stage of his 

journey here: it was the Count de-. In early 

life he had been the pride of the Court of France, 





38 


A TOUR 


full of the reigning taste for splendor, and with art- 
influence that seemed to defy the wreck of fate ;— 
but all is over; not a ray of that bright radiance left 
to light him through his dismal closing day. Ok 
ye who triumph now in fortune’s sunshine! re¬ 
member —- 

1 was going to say more, but I think I hear you 
laugh outright at me, as you have sometimes done 
on such occasions, as if you would question the sin¬ 
cerity of my moralising. I know your reason for 
it well enough, but remember I never admitted it as 
conclusive. The cheerful may be as earnest in their 
serious calculations as the gloomy and the self-deny¬ 
ing. My usual flow of spirits is no more at variance 
with this sometimes melancholy mood of mine, than 
the vivacity of May with the gloom of November. 
It is the seasons united which form the year, and 
neither that nor life was meant to be a perpetual 
spring; but as some climates enjoy more of that 
smiling season than others, so are some minds blest 
with more vivacity; and such is mine, though noth¬ 
ing abating the sincerity of my moralising. 

In a former part of this letter, when speaking of 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


39 


the want of beauty and elegance in the Flemish wo¬ 
men, you may remember I made one exception. I 
ought not indeed to have made this distinction, with¬ 
out accompanying it with her description ; for cu¬ 
riosity should not be wantonly raised, being no un¬ 
important matter with a woman, and whatever our 
sex may boast of being superior to it, I must admit 
no very inconsiderable one, even to man. 

I was introduced to a family in Brussels, the ladies 
of which (not to be ungallant) impressed me with 
no conception of the feminine: they reminded me 
of plants that grow wild, and had remained so too 
long to be transplanted: they wanted pruning and 
culture, but the season was past for that. I have 
seen, and perhaps you have too, a wild of fern that 
looked as if the hand of care had never touched it, 
and yet through Nature’s freak, or other cause, I 
have sometimes found within its bosom a solitary 
rose hiding its lovely bloom, and have perplexed 
myself with thinking by what hard fortune it had 
strayed from home, and took up its abode with such 
companions. There was one among the group of 
ladies to whom I have alluded, who from her form, 

















40 


A T'OUR 


her face, and manners, could have, I thought, no 
business there; but like the rose had got amongst 
them by some hapless chance. She was not fair 
nor dark, but of that shade which is mixed up with 
the best of both: her eyes are hazle, with the rich 
dark brown distinctly marked, full of expression 
of the softest nature, having nothing of the jet black 
insipidity about them: her dark hair hung thick and 
full in natural ringlets round her head, in the fashion 
of the paintings of Ninon de l’Enclos. I have no more 
description to give you of her ; the rest of the pic¬ 
ture corresponds with the little I have painted, and 
you can easily finish the piece in your own imagina^ 
tion. She is seventeen, but has the fulness and 
form of twenty j she seemed to claim nothing on 
the score of beauty, but by her affability would lead 
you to suppose she was endeavouring to compensate 
the total want of it. I am sure she made but small 
account of it, for her eyes were never wandering in 
search of admiration. She has an amiable heart, pr 
I have no penetration. Sweet flower, adieu! thy 
beauty will be courted by-and-by to grace some 
rich parterre. Oh may the hand that bears thee 
from thy bower be tender of its prize, an(f plant 





ON THE CONTINENT. 


41 


thee out of reach of every harm, but most of all 
neglect; for if I judge thee right, thou’lt wither 
soonest there. 

i - * ... ■ 

As I meant to leave Brussels on the following 
morning, I proposed a party to the theatre, and had 
the pleasure of the company of our Ninon de l’En^ 
clos and sisters; and no small one I consider it, 
since it gave me an opportunity of discovering in my 
conversation with her, that shh had a mind as well 
constructed as her face and person;—and what of 
that ? what benefit can such a discovery be to you ? 
No, you will not ask that, for we may feel interested 
without being in love, or having a benefit in antici¬ 
pation for ourselves. I should regret exceedingly, 
that beauty like hers should be without the protec- 
tion which good sense can never fail to afford: be¬ 
sides, I might even be in love, and that hopeless too, 
yet feel the same good wishes for the welfare of the 

i 

object, as if my suit were favored: this I am positive 
I could feel, though under no necessity of thus ex¬ 
erting myself on this occasion. In order to remove 
your doubts on this head, should you still have any, 

I am going to give you some description of the 
theatre, and the style of acting, which be assured I 






42 


A TOUR 


could not do, had love devoted my mind and heart 
to a single object. 

At each extremity of a tolerably long hall, as I 
suppose I must call it, is a wretched dirty deal stair¬ 
case, much resembling the garret flight of a com* 

mon house in London, with a white-washed wall on 
one side, and a greasy unpainted balustrade on the 
other; these lead to the boxes. Having arrived at 
the first landing-place, I was going to call for the 
boxkeeper, when an old creature, much like what 
we call a washerwoman in London, excepting that 
she had nothing clean about her, stepped up, and 
told me I could gain no admission in that circle, as 
the boxes were all engaged. Well, thought I, there 
can scarcely be any thing worse than this;—so shew 
us e’en where you please. But before I take you 
to the cell which was destined to entomb us during 
the performance, I cannot refrain from letting you 
have a peep into this circle of taste and fashion. 
You would, no doubt, be impatient to have the 
sketch of a place, so much in request, that notwith¬ 
standing our early arrival, there was no possibility 
of procuring a seat in it. Well, you will say, the paltry 
staircase, no doubt, was meant as a foil, or rather 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


43 


to prepare the mind to expect nothing but mean 
accommodation, and in the moment of this wretched 
anticipation, the splendor of a palace will burst 
suddenly upon the astonished stranger, and produce 
a sort of magical sensation, to keep him in good 
humour the remainder of the evening. 

A lobby of quite sufficient width to admit one 
person at a time, without his rubbing the chalk off 
the deal box doors with one shoulder, or the grease 
off the staircase balustrade with the other, formed 
the elegant lounge about this receptacle of the beau¬ 
tiful and fashionable. No fear of ill-breeding had 

here suggested the necessity of lock and key, as at 
our London theatres, where impertinent intrusion 

would otherwise dislodge, perhaps, the peaceful pos¬ 
sessors from their seats. An iron thumb latch forms 
the easy means of entrance and exit to these taste¬ 
ful retreats from the discord of public business. 
Some four or five rush-bottom chairs decorate their 
sides, and a red camlet curtain in front, receiving 
the rays from an iron chandelier in the centre of 
the house, throws a delicate tinge over the whole, 
which, during the hours of representation, gives the 
lime-washed sides of the interior of the boxes the 







44 


A TOUR 


appearance of pink distemper, without incurring the 
expense. Here, however, we were not permitted to 
remain, but sought our evening’s retirement in the 
circle above it, which was no way inferior, except 
that being without the curtain, we were deprived of 
the pink embellishment which added so much to the 
beauty below. The pit is divided by a partition; and 
for the seats in that part nearest the orchestra a higher 
price, I understand, is paid than for those in the 
other. The performance was Beauty and the Beast, 
and he who played the latter seemed perfectly at 
home in the part: this was followed by a comedy of 
three acts, the name of which I have forgotten. 

I am sufficiently acquainted with the French lan¬ 
guage to answer every general purpose, and am 
seldom at a loss in reading it; but I am not suffici¬ 
ently master of it to follow the performers through 
all the variety of fits and starts of passion, and 
through their frequent rapids of speech, if I may be 

i ' - • 

allowed the expression. On this explanation I 
must rest my apology for not giving you a critical 
account of their style of acting; for sometimes when 
I have caught the subject in the tranquil part of a 
scene, or (to use the term of a critic) in the level 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


4 5 


speaking, I have been thrown out by the full gallop 
into which the declamation has suddenly started. In¬ 
deed there was little to entertain me at this theatre, 
and I must confess that on that account I did not 
care to put my judgment much on the stretch. 

I found ample compensation, however, for this 
want of interest in the agreeable conversation of 
our Ninon (for such I must continue to call her). 
She is by no means nationally vain, and agreed with 
me in deploring the insignificance of their theatrical 
establishment. I asked her if I should find the per¬ 
formance much superior at Paris. She had never, 
she told me, been out of the Netherlands, and was 
therefore incompetent to judge on their comparative 
merit; but as more encouragement was given in 
large and wealthy cities, she had no doubt but I 
should find it so ; and to support this reasonable 
ground for her opinion, she asked me if I did not 
find the talents and style of our London theatres 
much superior to those in the other towns of Eng¬ 
land. I of course admitted this, but urged that it 
was not to the point, as we were speaking now of 
the comparative excellence of countries distinct from 
each other, and not on that of the different cities of 
















A TOUR 


the same nation. She smiled at this, and observed, 
as she was born during the dominion of France over 
her native country, she had so long been accustom¬ 
ed to consider herself a Frenchwomen, that she 
doubted whether she could ever bring herself to 
relinquish a title for which she had so decided a 
preference. I do not wonder at this, nor will you 
I think, when you recollect the description I have 
already given of the manners of her countrymen; 
for she is an elegant girl, and must find the polite¬ 
ness of the French more congenial to her taste: but 
she did not seem aware that by claiming France for 
her country on the grounds she stated, she was de¬ 
grading its character for politesse, since she thus 
transformed the Belgians, with all their coarseness, 
into Frenchmen. I would not urge this point, how¬ 
ever, and as she seemed so earnest to retain the 
title, I left her in undisputed possession of it. 

On the following morning I took my leave of the 
family, and was fortunate enough to find our Ninon 
at home. I don’t know whether I ought to rejoice 
or not at the custom of a country which sanctions 
a familiarity at parting, that only tends to increase 
the regret of separation. From the nature of my 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


47 


introduction there, I was on a very intimate footing, 
and took no more than the privilege of custom. To 
havekissedthe mother and two of her daughters only, 
would have made an invidious distinction, and to 
avoid that, I was obliged to include Ninon in the 
ceremony. It would have implied something had I 
left her out, and no one could have imputed my 
forbearance to disinclination. If I were wrong, it 
was my first and last offence there, and may easily 
be forgiven: but custom is every thing, and per¬ 
haps after all, I was the only one who thought at 
all upon the business, and even that thought would 
have been spared had Ninon been cast in the com¬ 
mon mould. 

I thought that long before this I should have 
brought my Tour up to Paris; but, I know not how 
it is, my pen keeps running on with what comes up¬ 
permost in my recollection; and while I am writing 
I find a thousand things to say to you which never 
occur to me at other times, and you see the most 
trifling matters find free admission into the narra¬ 
tive ; but as I should speak to you of these things 
if they recurred to my memory when iji London, 




















48 


A TOUR 


why should I hesitate to communicate them here ? 
You are not a critic, but even if you are, you are 
also a friend, which would forbid a too rigid scru¬ 
tiny. 

* >' r /T I f * f » r •> f 

It ’$ now two in the morning, and I have almost 
written myself into the vapours, for the creaking 
even of my escrutoire startles me.—Good night.—* 
I’ll resume my subject in another letter at my first 
leisure. 

-7 


ifi 


•i 


W 


o 




• ■ • - x 






ON THE CONTINENT. 


49 


LETTER IV. 


Paris . 

X think I finished my last by taking leave of 
Brussels, or rather of Ninon, for there was little else 
to regret leaving behind, and to say I did not regret 
this, would be coldness indeed. I am not ashamed 
of acknowledging what I conceive all would feel 
who had seen and conversed with her; indeed had 
I a mistress to whom I was betrothed, I would 
write to her in the same strain; for not to admire 
beauty or be pleased with good sense wherever I 
found them, would imply an insensibility to the bet¬ 
ter qualities of the sex, and leave her to wonder to 
what she was to attribute my attachment to her; if 
she were jealous it could be but for a moment, since 
were there real cause for that, she would be assured 
I should have kept the secret to myself. Confidence 
in becoming mutual only tends to strengthen itself, 
because what it communicates, though it may be a 
sin of the judgment, is never of the heart, and it 
serves to furnish opportunities for setting all right 
again; and this I would have my wife feel, (should 
Tour . D 











50 


A TOUR 


I ever possess one,) as the surest guardian of my 
affection for her, and if I know myself, I should 
exact no more than I would cheerfully pay. 

About a mile on our way to Mons, (which town 
was the extent of our first day’s journey) we over¬ 
took our reverend guide of St. Gudule Abbey, of 
whom I gave you some account in my last; he was 
going on foot to a village on our route, about two 
German leagues off: the day was exceedingly hot, 
and I proposed his joining our party, which he 
readily accepted, and I was pleased at the opportu¬ 
nity of taking my leave, by an act of civility, of one 
who had shown us so much attention. 

The country through which we passed to Mons, 
is rich and well cultivated, abounding in corn, but 
presenting nothing for a romantic taste; the scenery 
is too flat, and even, with little diversity of hill and 
dale. We dined and slept at Mons, but arrived too 
late to feel any desire of visiting the church, or other 
buildings of the place that evening; and indeed the 
very bad accommodation we met with at the 
Couronne Imperiale, (the best hotel of the town) les¬ 
sened our desire of devoting any part of the follow- 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


51 


I 


ing morning to this purpose. I was vexed, but not 
disappointed, with our treatment; for on our first 
arrival in the inn-yard, I saw the hostess tricked 

i 

out in the height of fashion, coquetting with some 
half dozen French officers, and totally unmindful of 
her duty. At first I judged that our being English 
was the cause of her neglect, but on the instant two 
other carriages arrived with a Prussian family, who 
were doomed to suffer the same indifference from 
our fashionable hostess ; she was not, for a moment 
diverted from her dalliance, excepting that she called 
to her husband to go and see what was wanted; at 
which bidding, a poor miserable creature, with a 
long queue, and death-like visage, instantly appeared, 
and made every possible apology for not attending 
sooner. It was pretty clear who was the master of 
this hotel, and to whose exclusive use the profits of 
it were appropriated, for the poor husband was 
literally a caricature of shabbiness, and her majesty 
of the Couronne Imperiale, decked out as if she be¬ 
lieved herself mistress of the crown, instead of the 
sign of it. 

Early on the following morning we set off for 
Cambray, but owing to the indisposition of one of 



32 


A TOUR 


our party, we did not proceed further than a lone 
house, beautifully situated within about one mile 
and a half of the little, but powerfully fortified town 
of Bouchaine. Here our accommodation made ample 
amends for the neglect of Mons. The mistress was 
the most obliging woman in the world, and I am 
not certain but she was the largest too; for though 
she was only six feet high, she had a breadth that 
required ten of length, at least, to make the person 
in proportion; but she was handsomer and better 
formed in my eyes, with all this defect, than the 
richly decorated hostess of Mons; so blind does 
good nature make us to the imperfections of the 
dwelling in which it resides. 

On pursuing our journey in the morning, we 
stopped at Bouchaine to see the fortifications : one 
important part of the strength of this place is, that 
it can be surrounded by water for a considerable ex¬ 
tent. With a garrison of five hundred men, it stood 
a siege against thirty thousand of the enemy, who 
were unable to take it by force : it ultimately sur¬ 
rendered to famine. The Danish contingent are 
now occupying this fortress. We arrived at Cam- 
bray to a late breakfast; the head-quarters of the 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


53 


British army are in this town, a part of which we 
had the pleasure of seeing in review : here I was 
obliged to deposit the passport I had received from 
the French Ambassador in London, and was fur¬ 
nished, in lieu, with a pass to Paris, to which city 
the one I had given up was to be forwarded, and 
which I was to reclaim from the police department 
there. 

Before quitting the town, we went to the cathe¬ 
dral to see the paintings by Geerearts which adorn 
the altar and sanctuary. They are in imitation of 
sculpture, and I never saw a more complete optic 
illusion. They do not represent the figures merely 
projecting, as in basso relievo, but as if one’s arm 
could actually encircle them ; so truly has the artist 
given the semblance of space to the back ground of 
his pictures: indeed I was obliged to touch the 
canvass, before I could bring myself to resist the 
force of appearance. 

A little old woman, about three feet high, con¬ 
ducted us through this church, and conceiving it 
necessary to be mightily officious in order to increase 
her claim on our liberality, she led us to and fro 
through all the windings of this spacious edifice, as 




,54 


A TOUR 


if to bring us at length to some important point; 
and so indeed she did,—not in her display of the 
vestments, which seem to have been shewn or 
worn, till little remained but the dirt which had ac¬ 
cumulated in these endless exhibitions; but to that 
more attentive point, that magnet to our hopes and 
wishes, which, notwithstanding the wholesome les¬ 
sons so repeatedly read against it in sermon and 
philosophy, seems still to hold its undiminished 
sway over all mankind. The little woman’s wants 
were few, and as a two franc piece could make her 
rich, without making me poor, I thought the sa¬ 
crifice reasonable enough, and I had no delicacy 
here, as at St. Gudule. Before I get back to you, 
however, I may be waited on by some Lady Abbess 
in the same manner as by the priest at Brussels, and 
should this happen, I fear I shall be involved in an 
inextricable dilemma as to the manifestation of my 
gratitude ; for I cannot ask her to dinner, nor ex¬ 
press my obligations in the manner they were offered 
to Ninon. I will not however anticipate difficulties, 
but trust to expedient, which has generally proved 
my friend on the spur of the moment. 


We now proceeded to Peronne, another strong 





ON THE CONTINENT. 


55 


town in this line of fortifications: here we passed 
the remainder of the day, and pursued our journey 
early on the following morning, in order, that night, 
if possible, to reach Pont St. Maxence. It is how¬ 
ever theory only, to plan; we easily arrange the 
manner, and see little difficulty in accomplishing 

the object which we have made up our minds to 

. » 

attain ; we seldom take into the scale of objections, 
mere possible impediments, but rather pave our an¬ 
ticipated way as smooth and even as our wishes can 
require; but it is practice to execute, and here we 
are doomed, not unfrequently, to find that our fa¬ 
cilities were but ideal, and that difficulties which 
never entered our heads before starting, assail us in 

the experiment, at every stage of our progress. 

\ 

We had never calculated on the constant wear 
and tear of our wheels over the rough-paved roads 
of Flanders, and were rather vexed than astonished 
at finding our progress suddenly arrested by a frac¬ 
ture, that seemed to require more surgical talent, 
than the retired situation in which we were obliged 
to stop was likely to furnish. We were now far 
advanced in the day, and uneasy at our situation, 
being several miles from the village of Gournay 







56 


A TOUR 


Sur Aronde, which was the nearest place where we 
could hope to find any thing like accommodation > 
but how to reach it was a mystery: to remain in 
the road all night was no very cheering prospect, 
and how to avoid it, no very easy calculation, 
“ There was no going hence, nor tarrying here. 
To waste our time in fruitless lamentations would 
have been idle indeed, so I sallied forth to the top 
of a little hill, to discover, if possible, the mansion, 
cottage, or hovel, of some reasonable being, on 
whose hospitality we might venture to throw our¬ 
selves, till some remedy could be found for our 
disaster. 

From this eminence I had the pleasure to see, at 
about half a mile distant, a group of peasants dan¬ 
cing on their new-shorn meadow; they were cele¬ 
brating the completion of their hay-harvest, and to¬ 
wards this jocund train we bent our steps with re¬ 
freshed spirits, scarcely lamenting the accident that 
had just before appeared to us without remedy. Be¬ 
hind a clump of lime-trees at the extremity of the field, 
stood the humble abode of these honest rustics, and 
here we were cheerfully invited to partake of their 
cottage fare. To such as have never stood in need 





t 


ON THE CONTINENT. 57 

of casual hospitality, this incident would furnish lit¬ 
tle interest, but to such as have partaken of it, it 
will serve to recal the pleasing adventure, and revive 
in them the perhaps neglected love which we should 
feel for one another $ it is a lesson at least in favor 
of mutual kindness, and can show the loftiest of 
mankind, that there are situations in which even he 
must be reduced to the common level of depen¬ 
dent man. 

With the assistance of these obliging peasants, 
the damaged wheels of our carriage were conveyed 
to a little hamlet, about two miles across the coun¬ 
try, where they-were left for repair; and the vehicle 
being safely lodged in the barn of our new friends, 
we set about making ourselves as cheerful as we had 
before been vexed. The evening was serene and 
beautiful, and having seated ourselves on the trunk 
of a fallen lime, our host and family resumed their 
merry dance, and surprised us with their accurate 
time and graceful activity. How easy it is to see if 
the heart goes with the sport! In our own country, 
I have sometimes been reminded of Bunbury’s cari¬ 
cature of lumps of pudding : here it is quite another 
thing; no lumps of pudding wade through their 






✓ 



,58 


A TOUR 

elastic ranks, all is at once upon the stretch of plea¬ 
sure, and though the figure and time are kept with 
perfect accuracy, yet they never appear as if these 
things had engaged their thoughts, so thoroughly 
absorbed are they in the pleasure they enjoy. They 
continued their sport till the last ray of the setting 
sun had quitted the summit of the adjacent hill, and 
at this signal of departed day, we were conducted 
to the cottage of our host, where we sat down 
with himself, two sons, and a handsome daughter, 
to enjoy a repast of fricaseed fowl, salad, and wine. 
It was a lone house, but not a poor one j the farm 
was extensive, and I am glad of it, for its master 
would accept of no remuneration for the treatment 
we had received from him, but begged us to set it 
down as a debt to hospitality, which he was sure, 
he said, we should pay whenever called upon to do 
so. There was no disputing the point with one 
who could confer an obligation in a manner like 
this ; so on taking leave in the morning, a lady, 
who was of our party, presented a garnet ring from 
her finger to the daughter of our host, as a testimo¬ 
nial of our obligation, adding, that she hoped ano¬ 
ther might soon be offered, more welcome, and not 

/ • t > 

less sincere. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


59 


We had not realized indeed the expectation 
which we had formed on the preceding morning, 
as to the extent of our day’s journey, but we 
had far surpassed it in adventures; we were 
gainers by the accident, as we had lost only a few 
miles of our distance, and found in compensation, 
the better feelings of the human heart, in beings 

4 

who had otherwise continued strangers to us still* 
The novel incident engrossed our conversation, 
from our quitting this hospitable retreat, to our ar¬ 
rival at Pont St. Maxence, and would have con¬ 
tinued to do so, had not the intense heat of the day 
put a stop for a while to our progress, and thrown 
us into an inn, where every thing is done in a dif¬ 
ferent manner, to that which we had just experi¬ 
enced. But there is nothing to complain of on that 
account : to find hosts like our last is rare, and 
heaven in pity to such as stand in need of their as¬ 
sistance, has planted them at stated points, where 
most required, to house benighted travellers in dis¬ 
tress : and one we found, just where we had no 
means to do without him. Thanks to that power, 
who has arranged all things for general good; that 
has given the glow-worm light, lest in his natural 
nightly wanderings, seme unconscious foot should 









60 


A TOUR 


come upon it. An Italian poet, whose name I for¬ 
get, has a stanza on this subject, which is transla¬ 
ted, (as well as my memory can prompt me) thus, 

“ Who knows but thy refulgent ray 
Was lighted up by God, 

To bid the traveler on his way. 

Be mindful where he trod / 7 

t. > i '. ! , 

Having remained at Pont St: Maxence till the 
sun had a little declined, we proceeded on our 
journey; and without any further important inci¬ 
dent, reached Senlis to dinner. Here we passed 
over the ground, on which the battle was fought 
against the Prussians by Grouchy and Vandamme, 
who after their retreat from Waterloo, made a stand 
here to defend the capital. The Guard Nationale, 
had just returned from a review on our entering the 
town, and perceiving we were English, they gave 
us our full share of their good-will in grins and 
maledictions: no unusual salutation indeed since 
our landing at Calais, but certainly the first military 
reception of this sort, that we had yet been greeted 
with. We slept at Senlis, and after breakfasting 
the following morning at Louvres, which is midway 


« 



ON THE CONTINENT. 61 

between Senlis and Paris, we were ushered with all 
the rapidity, which the sanguine temperament, and 
active whip of our cocher could provoke our horses 
to, into this city of bustle,—this capital of pleasure!— 
or to borrow the enthusiastic spirit of a Parisian, into 
le monde; and after all he is right, for I hardly 
think I had been in the world till then. To be in 
the world implies activity, since those who retire 
into scenes of solitude, are said to have given it up ; 
those who sleep, may be said to have retired awhile 
from it, because their activity is suspended; and 
those who think much, are so frequently absent 
from it on that very account, that they too, may be 
considered rather as visitors, than residents in it. 
A Parisian, in his own city, forbids all such impedi¬ 
ment to his activity, and feeling nothing to check his 
perpetual motion there, limits the world to the walls 
that surround him ; and who after this will dispute 
his right and title to the term ? I think I see you 
laugh at my leaving sleep out of the Parisian’s cata¬ 
logue of necessities, but I have not done so without 
a plausible reason for it, and this you will find as I 
go on. 

The burning heat of the weather had been con- 





62 


A TOUR 


stantly encreasing since our leaving Brussels, and on 
our entering Paris, it had reached its climax. In my 
life I never before experienced such intenseness ; 
there was not a breath of air, and the rays of the 
sun, which for the last week had been'darting 
through a cloudless atmosphere, had by this time 
so heated their lofty stone houses, that on our en¬ 
trance into the narrow inlets which they formed, 
we might have fancied we had mistaken our way, 
and were entering the crater of some burning vol¬ 
cano ; and the confusion of carts, fiacres, wooden 
shoes, drums, &c. in the streets of the faubourgs 
through which we passed; together with the sing¬ 
ing, music, bawling, laughing, and talking from 
the windows of almost every house in them at the 
same moment, only tended to encrease the illusion, 
and led us to imagine that the explosion had actually 
commenced 5 and that the beings who were flying 
about in all directions, or bobbing their heads at 
the casements above us, were nothing more than the 
combustible matter which had been ejected, and had 
not yet exhausted the impetus which expelled it. 

We, however, soon passed through this scene of 
inferior life, into one more splendid, but not less 


1 


ON THE CONTINENT. 63 

stormy; for be it understood, that whatever differ¬ 
ence may exist, in other respects, between the high 
and the low, in this latter point they meet in eter¬ 
nal equality; it thunders for ever through the 
palace, the hotel, the shop, and the hovel, with no 
other difference than the harmony or dissonance 
of the peal. After dodging about an hour between 
cart and carriage, and horse and foot passenger, 
none of which seem to have any defined or regular 
course in their unflagged streets, but rattle away 
helter skelter, through any accidental opening that 
may present itself, (as if in a constant crowd) we 
reached the Hotel de Valois, in the Rue Richelieu. 
Did you ever feel in such a heat, that you would 
hardly have moved another step, to see a young 
duchess dressed for her first presentation ? If you 
have, you may feel some idea of my perplexity, 
leaving out all the confusion of a bewildered brain, 
in this new scene of action. After trotting up at 
least half a dozen distinct staircases, and to an enor¬ 
mous height too, (till heat and ill-humour had 
nearly overpowered us,) we suited ourselves with 
excellent apartments, and then sat down for a while 
to give the spirits time to rally, after this double ex¬ 
haustion of mind and body. The lees of the tern- 







64 


A TOUR 


per however soon subside here, within so pure an 
atmosphere, where neither smoke nor vapor clogs 
the respiration. 

Having dressed ourselves and ordered dinner, we 
began to enquire about what we ought to have 
learned, before deciding on the place of our resi¬ 
dence ; namely, how we were situated as to the 
places of amusement, curiosities, public buildings, 
operas, theatres, &c.; fortunately accident made 
amends for the neglect of forethought, and we found 
ourselves in the very centre of them all. We now 
sallied forth on foot, to take a promenade in the 
gardens of the Thuilleries, which were close at 
hand. I do not mean to give you a detailed descrip¬ 
tion of these, nor would you, I am sure desire it, 
since it could be little else than a repetition of the 
same formal arrangement that I have given of the 
park at Brussels : the dress is precisely the same, 
but the cloth here is richer, and the ornaments more 
profuse, that’s all. Having looked at one side at¬ 
tentively, if you suddenly turn to the other, you 
would conceive it a mirror reflecting what you had 
just seen. Such is the picture of the gardens of 
the Thuilleries: there is no allurement here to wan- 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


65 


der, as in the sweet wilds of nature ; on the con¬ 
trary, all but a Frenchman turn away on first ac¬ 
quaintanceship, and never seek a more familiar 

footing ; I never paid the place a second visit. 

*- • 

t 

We now returned to dinner, and afterwards com¬ 
menced settling the manner in which we should dis¬ 
pose of the time we meant to spend in this city. 
We had a letter of introduction to a family here, 
and through their kind means we were enabled to ar¬ 
range this to our full satisfaction. Should you ever 
design to visit the continent, be sure and provide 
yourself with introductions: one, at least, is indis¬ 
pensable here, if you mean to see all that is worth 
observation, for in so large a place you would other¬ 
wise be at a great loss in regulating the order in 
which you should visit the different places, from 
want of local knowledge ; and with a good arrange¬ 
ment, you will see as much in one month, as by a 
bad one you would be able to accomplish in three. 
We finished Our evening discussion, with a resolu¬ 
tion to make use of our introductory letter before 
we proceeded further, and breaking up the conclave 
we retired to rest. 


Tour. 


i 


E 







A TOUR 


66 ’ 

Having arrived in my chamber I found this impos¬ 
sible, at least for the present, as in the apartments 
adjoining mine there was a French party of four or 
five, from the sound of their voices, who were enjoy¬ 
ing La Danse en famille to a well played violin; 
their mirth was at its height, for laughter at times, 
though it stifled the sounds of their instrument, could 
not stop the active measure of their limbs. Well, 
thought I, the storm is too violent and the flashes too 
frequent to last, it must soon be calm again; so I 
e’en undressed, and was going by music to bed, as, 
on my arrival at Calais, I had done to dinner 5—there 
was something new in it, and I was a little diverted 
with the novelty notwithstanding my fatigue. By the 
time I had completed my work, and was on the 
point of dancing into bed, bounce opened a door 
which I conceived to be that of a closet belonging to 
my room, and a lady and gentleman made me a thou¬ 
sand apologies for the accidental intrusion: the fact 
was, that my suite of apartments communicated with 
another occupied by this merry party, and the fille 
de Chambre having forgot to bolt the barrier of di¬ 
vision on my side, the party in question conceiving 
my rooms unoccupied as they had been before dur- 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


67 


% 

ing their stay, had as usual after their dance, it 
seems, thrown open this door for the benefit of air. 
In England, a lady under such a dilemma would 
have retired in silence; but in France, an apology 
must be made even to a man in his shirt, and the 
pardon was accorded with as much grace as a man 
who had never been taught to bow in such an attire, 
could be expected to display. I had no hat to aid 
the elegance of the movement, but, as if by instinct, 
I seized my night cap, which answered full as well, 
and actually bowed her to her room again. There 
was no alternative ; to appear abashed whilst a lady 
can sustain the shock, would have been an unman¬ 
liness that I could not stoop to, and I think we all 
got through the business with considerable credit. I 
now bolted the door, and slipped into bed, quite 
tickled with the adventure, and for some time could 
not sleep for laughing at it. At length I gently 
glided into the vale of fiction, whose sweet groves 
have sheltered many a care-worn being, for a while 
at least, from the tempest of the Fates; and though 
the captive’s chains are on him still, in thy embrace, 
oh Sleep! he is oft at large, rambling with those 
he loves in Freedom’s boundless range. Be with 


✓ / 


68 A TOUR 

the wretched, sweet illusion! when thou canst, and 
chequer sorrow’s course with fancied joys: life is 
but short, yet thou mayest steal from it an hour or 
two from time to time, though grief be ne’er so 
watchful; and what with thy bright dreams, and airy 
castles, care may be cheated of a thousand stings. 

He who has been accustomed to a life at sea, and 
can sleep undisturbed in storm or cannonade, may 
manage matters here pretty well; but on my life 
any other must become used by time to the racket 
of this city before he can. By two in the morning 
my sleep could stand the storm no longer, and 
bouncing out of bed as if startled by a dream, I was 
going to call out what’s the matter ; but recollect¬ 
ing myself, I perceived it was nothing more than 
the perpetual motion, which, though I heard on go¬ 
ing to bed, I had calculated like the bustle of other 
places, would have exhausted itself by midnight;— 
but no, the motion here is perpetual indeed, and I 
am half inclined to believe, that the occupants of no 
house whatever in this place retire to rest at a stated 
hour, as in England, but that some sleep while others 
keep watch lest by any accident, silence should for 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


69 


once prevail, and deprive the Parisians of some im¬ 
portant charter. Their noise is as sacred to them as 
the pure fire (which was the voucher of their chastity) 
to the Vestals whose duty it was to watch that it might 
never be extinguished. On some occasions the 
latter have paid the forfeit of the neglected charge, 
but the former have never been found wanting, and 
I believe will maintain their privilege to the end of 
the chapter. Night and day here are much about 
the same thing, only that the sun lights the one and 
the moon the other.. 

Fll not give you the account of my observations 
or disposal of time while here, in the order of a 
journal, but without reference to dates lay before 
you my proceedings during the stay. We took a 
walk through the Place de Carrousel to the Seine, for 
the purpose of seeing the bridges, which are gene¬ 
rally well built, and some of them only inferior to 
our best, because they have not such a river to cross 
as our Thames. The Seine is very narrow, and of 
but little interest to a resident of London, the river 
of which city, in every consideration of utility, so 
immensely surpasses it; but the Parisians have 
greatly the superiority in their open and spacious 


TO 


A TOUR 


quays, which form a handsome promenade on each 
side the Seine through the city; but this is a benefit 
only to the general appearance of the town, while it 
proclaims the little commercial use that is made of 
it;—however, as a coup d’ceil it has decidedly the ad¬ 
vantage over us. The Pont Neuf, though so called 
Still, is by far the oldest bridge they have: there are 
stairs from this which lead to floating baths, of which 
there are several, and to floating laundries too, where 
the washing of a considerable part of the city is 
performed. I saw dozens of women at this work, 
which is not executed as with us—they substitute 
beating for rubbing, and as they have no other way 
of cleansing, they leave their faces unwashed for 
fear of hurting themselves ;—but this by the way 
is more for the joke than the truth, since I have 
seen full as many clean faces in Paris as in London, 
though by no means so pretty. From this bridge 
we had an extremely fine view of the exterior of the 
grand gallery of the Louvre. Having traversed the 
Pont Royal, the Pont des Arts, and the Pont Neuf, 
we went to the Place de Louvre, and saw as much 
as had been executed of the building projected by 
Napoleon, to correspond with the gallery I have 
mentioned, and thus to complete the square of which 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


7 i 


the Palace of the Thuilleries forms a side; but little 
had been done of this—his restless ambition led him 
to less tranquil projects, and his failure in these has 

consigned the other to neglect. A much grander 

/ \ 

work than this had been planned by him; but from 
the same cause, has never gone beyond the project¬ 
ing. It was a superb marble colonnade which was 
to have reached from the Thuilleries to the intend¬ 
ed palace of the young King of Rome. 

* i 

i 

You have read in Rousseau’s Heloise an account 
of the French Opera, and if your opinion has been 
formed in that school, your interest will be little 
excited, though you must expect I should say some¬ 
thing on the subject. The house is large, but not 
of the oblong shape of that in London; the front is 
nearer the stage, and the sides more removed from 
it, as at Drury Lane. A single chandelier,. but of 
large dimensions, hanging from the centre of the 
house, is the only light in the audience part of it, 
and is quite sufficient for the original purpose of 
such an establishment, though not, perhaps, for the 
display of fashion and beauty, which is the most 
prominent consideration with an elegant London 
audience; but this in Paris seems to have little 


7 .2 


A TOUlt 


weight, unless with the English ladies, who dress 
there in all the extravagance of taste, and endeavour 
to out-do even their London out-doings. I never 
was more astonished than on my first entrance into 
this house. I had been led to expect so little de¬ 
cency, from the accounts I had so often heard in 
London of the extreme levity of French taste, par¬ 
ticularly in dress, that I had prepared myself for a 
display, that would have suffused the cheeks of our 
least fastidious belles ; but on the contrary, Diana’s 
self unblushing might behold them. Long sleeves, 
and dressed up to their very chins; quite the ex¬ 
treme indeed; but if a lady cannot keep the medium, 
it is laudable to deviate to the modest side. 

In the front of the house, and immediately pro¬ 
jecting from the low tier of boxes, are four rows of 
seats elevated considerably above the pit, and sepa¬ 
rated from each other by partitions ; these are not 
divided into distinct boxes, but are open like the 
pit through the whole extent, and pay the same 

price as the close boxes. As to the height of the 

. * . 

house, you may form some idea from there being 
six tiers: the tout ensemble is handsome. The 
scenery is beautiful, and the machinery by which it 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


73 


is moved admirable, for it is changed as if by 
magic: there is no moving from one side to the 
other as with us, but, as if a conjuror had blown 
upon it, the scene is changed and vou cannot tell 
how. I wonder that our English theatres have not 
yet profited from this example; but some how or 
other we are so wedded to old customs and opinions, 
that like doating husbands towards their wives, we 

are loath to give them up, even after we have found 

% 

them to be worthless; the dull old reason still—we 
have gone on well enough with what we have, our 
fathers didn’t complain, and why should we? Some¬ 
thing like the arguments used against Sir Samuel 
Romilly’s reasons for proposing to revise certain 
parts of our criminal code ;—but to resume. The 
orchestra is very full and grand; I did not count 
the number, but it appeared to me three times that 
of our own opera house. The time is admirably 
kept, but the music is thunder. The French appear 
to me to have no taste for the tender ; there is no¬ 
thing melting in their composition, nothing of the 
soft Italian stealing on the heart, and breathing love 
through all the yielding senses : the martial is their 
taste, and to the highest pitch their band can carry 
it, it always mounts. Two or three instruments 


74 


A TOUR 


commence the overture, and as it proceeds, another 
and another join, till all have gradually combined 
their powers, and every head, that is not purely 
French, is split asunder. 

“ Now strike the golden lyre agaiu. 

And louder yet, and yet a louder strain; 

Break his bands of sleep asunder, 

And rouze him like a rattling peal of thunder.” 


Their very lovers breathe their softest vows in mar¬ 
tial strains, and were it not that their attitude speaks 
something of their feeling, all would be lost upon 
you, for their music breathes nothing but war. The 
ballet, however, is without fault, and not merely so, 
but it is full of perfection : the dancing is the finest 
in the world; no other country pretends to dispute 
the point with them; the whole corps are at the 
height of the profession, and it appears like a contest 
among themselves for the prize. There is nothing 
a la mediocre here, it is all complete, all perfect, 
nothing left to desire. 

The next place we visited was the palace and 
gardens of St. Cloud, the road to which, through 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


15 


the Bois de Bologne, is a charming drive, and near 
enough to Paris to allow of returning to dinner, 
after enjoying the beauties of the place, and seeing 
all worth notice in the neighbourhood. The king 
was at this palace, and in consequence we were not 
permitted to enter; but we found free admission 
into the gardens, which are beautiful, and were 
rendered more inviting because they were the only 
specimen of natural taste we had seen since our ar¬ 
rival on the continent. The scenery is diversified, 
and you may range through shady grove or gay 
promenade just as your fancy leads: there is no¬ 
thing of Brussels park or the Thuilleries about it, to 
tire without exercise, or sicken with its sameness. 
Here, from the terrace, we had an admirable view 
of Paris, for St. Cloud is built on a hill, and com¬ 
mands a very extensive view of the country on that 
side. 

Having spent about an hour at this place we pro¬ 
ceeded to Sevres, which is close by, to see the manu¬ 
factory of porcelain. Here we were highly gra¬ 
tified by the exquisite paintings on china, which 
are carried to such perfection that the price of a 
single cup and saucer of the first quality is—by-the- 





76 


A TOUR 


by, the amount I was going to mention alarms me 
for the credit of my veracity, and as I may have con¬ 
founded one sum with another, in order to be on 
the right side I’ll say nothing about it for the pre¬ 
sent. There is a large circular table here of por¬ 
celain, the surface of which is most beautifully paint¬ 
ed on separate compartments, displaying all the 
royal palaces of France, with the grounds attached 
to them. This was for the king, and no price was 
affixed to it, nor was it necessary there should be, 
since the monarch here is at the head of all the manu¬ 
factories, and has nothing to pay, I understand, for 
such produce of them as he may require for his own 
use. I do not admire this mode of regulating 
things. Here, if a man by labour or ingenuity has 
produced something of public advantage, he has not 
that benefit which would have accrued to him in 
England; on the contrary, the state takes the ma¬ 
nagement into its own hands, defrays all the ex¬ 
penses, and receives all the produce of the sales. 
No doubt the ingenuity of those who have invented 
or discovered, is rewarded; but this mode of ar¬ 
rangement does not accord with my notions of jus¬ 
tice. I am indeed tempted on that very account to 
suspect that my informant may have been too ge- 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


77 


neral in his application of this law of France, and 
that it may relate only to particular manufactures, 
and to those too only under peculiar circumstances. 
I will inform myself, however, on this head from 
some other source. We now returned to Paris to 
a late dinner. 

On the following day, (Sunday) we went to 
hear the high mass at the great church of Notre 
Dame, and took our station in the lofty stone gal¬ 
lery immediately over the sanctuary. We had been 
led to expect a great treat of music, and I judged 
that the effect would be greatly improved by our ele¬ 
vated distance. We were near enough, however, to 
the altar, to see distinctly the solemn ceremony, and 
waited the commencement of it with anxious antici¬ 
pation. The moment at length arrived and twenty- 
four priests, in vestments, with a suitable train of 
attendants, entered the sanctuary, and after perform¬ 
ing a part of the service, they moved in holy pro¬ 
cession with torches and incense, chanting hymns 
through all the aisles of this extensive edifice. Dur¬ 
ing the performance of this ceremony a small band, 
consisting of two violins, a flute, French horn, and 
violoncello, entered the sanctuary, and the priests 


78 


A TOUR 


having returned, the mass commenced to the very 
worst music I had ever heard. 

In a country where the population is almost en¬ 
tirely catholic, it was natural to expect that their 
most ancient, and grandest church, would have been 
crowded; but I found the officiating body as nume¬ 
rous as their congregation. This apathy to religion 
which is to be found amongst the present race of 
Frenchmen, whose fathers, but yesterday as it were, 
had kissed the rod of clerical power, is a melancholy 
proof how closely infidelity treads to the heels of 
bigotry. The revolution extinguished the flame of 
religion in the blood of the purest of its pastors, 
whose holy zeal forbad them to abandon their post, 
even in the midst of the destroying hurricane. The 
less zealous, whose piety could not arm them with 
the requisite courage to perish in the cause, fled 
from their trust, and abandoned the field to the 
havock of blasphemy and abomination; for the rest 
of the clergy soon yielded to the existing state of 
things, setting the horrible example to their country, 
of the very ministers of religion denying its efficacy, 
and remaining in it, to impress on the rising gene¬ 
ration, that devotion was mockery, and that they 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


79 


kept up the appearance of it only so long as it had 
been profitable to them; and of this latter body, 
the chief were those who, prior to the revolution, 
had by a too rigid execution of their power and au¬ 
thority, helped to grind the people into that con¬ 
dition of misery, which warranted the appeal they 
made against oppression, though nothing could jus¬ 
tify the atrocities which followed it. With only 
such apostate priests remaining amongst them, how 
was it to be expected that the present race of France 
should have much religion ? I am, however, wan¬ 
dering from my object: I am talking politics to a 
lady, which is out of character at any time, and to 
do so when she expects nothing but the narrative of 
a Tour, might be considered impertinent, were it not 
that good nature knows how to pardon the wander¬ 
ings into which my subject may sometimes allure 
me. 

✓ 

I thought at the immense elevation in which we 
had taken our seats, that we were secure from inter¬ 
ruption, for so far below was the ceremony perform¬ 
ing, that we beheld it as through an opera glass re¬ 
versed > but I was mistaken, for the churches are 
poor now, whatever they once had been, and ne- 



80 


A TOUR 





cessity will find its way through the obstacles of toil 
and intricacy; the first, at least, of which must be 
encountered before our position could be stormed. 
A priest himself did us the honour to crave our mite 
to the support of the clergy, and there was no put¬ 
ting off so important a personage with a trifle. We 
had paid for our seats on entering, but that was 
for the wear and tear of the inanimate part of the 
establishment only. We parted on good terms with 
our visitor, and took a drive on the Boulevards to 
sharpen our appetites for dinner, and after that we 
took a walk about the Palais Royal, and that part 
of the city nearest our hotel. 

On the following morning we ordered the car¬ 
riage early, in order to see as much as possible south 
of the Seine; we were accompanied by a gentle¬ 
man of the family to whom our letter had intro¬ 
duced us, and through whom we found the greatest 
facilities in our visits to the curiosities and public 
places of Paris. 

Our first point this day was the Champ de Mars, 
which is a large open space with the military college 
at the southern extremity. It was here that Napo- 







ON THE CONTINENT. 


81 


leon held the Champ de Mai after his return from 

i 

Elba; from this we proceeded to L’Hotel des In- 
valides, the establishment of which is on a similar 
principle with our Chelsea College: but here you 
* see, what I believe is never the case at the latter, 
commissioned officers, and some of high rank too, 
subsisting on the allowances of it; but their table is 
of course superior, and their apartments suitable to 
their condition in life. When we consider the vast 
number of officers in the French army, who have 
risen purely by merit from the ranks, we may easily 
conceive the frequent want of means to provide for 
themselves, when rendered incapable of service 
from wounds or sickness. Pensions are allowed to 
them as in England if they choose to accept them, 
in preference to the Hotel; but they are inadequate, 
unless aided by private property, which, for the 
reasons I have stated, the officers in France are very 
deficient in. I had some conversation with one of 
them, and found him an extremely intelligent man: 
he had fought in the battles of Marengo, Auster- 
litz, Friedland, &c., and had served through the 
disastrous Russian campaign, and subsequently at 
Leipsig, where he received the wound which con¬ 
signed him to this place ) he was a colonel $ and 
Tour . F. 





82 


A TOUR 


from his energetic manner, and description of the 
battles I have mentioned, it was easy to see, that 
his hard lot had not in the least diminished his love 
for the profession. Of what different materials (or 
whatever else it may be) are the minds of men 
formed; that while one is toiling with no other ob¬ 
ject than to procure ease and retirement in the vale 
of years, another regrets that the wounds he has 
received, through a life of constant danger, have 
deprived him of the power to continue his despe¬ 
rate career ! 

r. r *■. i .• > f ^ . 

Having seen all connected with the domestic part 
of the establishment, we visited the chapel. At the 
commencement. of the revolution, the democrats 
broke into it, while the priests were celebrating 

high mass; the chief of whom they sacrificed at the 

/ • , 

altar, and the others who had fled for safety to the 
top of the building, they pursued and hurled head¬ 
long into the chancel, where they expired. I’ll not 
however shock you by repetitions of these heart¬ 
rending atrocities, of which almost every public 
building in Paris has been the scene, and which 
were I to enumerate, would throw a frightful horror 

t 

over the narrative, and infuse a melancholy in it, 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


83 


i • 

which, as my object is to inspire pleasure, I should 
be studious to avoid. The interior of the dome of 
this Hotel is very beautiful, and the tesselated pave¬ 
ment under it is considered a masterpiece of work¬ 
manship. The exterior of the dome is gilt; which 
does not strike me as adding any thing to its beauty, 
and only serves, at a great expense, to distinguish it 
unnecessarily from the other buildings, on a distant 
view of the city. 

I cannot here refrain from observing, that I have 
not the talent to enter into that detailed and accu- 

i 

rate description, which the public works of a great 
and splendid city may fairly demand: books have 
been written in which justice, no doubt, has been 
done to them all; and I have not the vanity to think 
I could equal them, nor the wish, if I could, to do 
over again what is sufficient, when well done once. 
For accurate accounts on this head, I must refer you 
to other pens than mine, and solicit your indul¬ 
gence when I lay before you my cursory observa- 

•t 

tions; I write to'you in the style of our domestic 
chit-chat, fearless of criticism, as when, over our 
wine or tea, we have provoked discussion on sub- 

A* * t / 

jects without previous consideration of them. I am 


34 


A TOUR 


hurrying through Paris, because I can do nothing 
deliberately in it; and I have so much to do in so 
little time, that I am obliged to press it on, like the 
pageant of a Roman triumph, which has enough to 
employ a week, but must by law be finished in a 
single day. I am become through example, or the 
air and wine of the place, quite a Parisian in activity, 
for I hardly know how to sit still, though literally 
stewed with the heat of the weather. 

We visited the Chamber of Deputies, and the 
Palace of the Luxembourg, in which the chamber 
of Peers is held ; and here, in spite of the trembling 
of our guide, at the indignity offered to his coun¬ 
try, I actually took possession of the Throne of 
France, and placed my foot upon the stool below it; 
but I issued no edict, and the usurpation remains a 
profound secret to all in France, but our agitated 
conductor. We next proceeded to the gallery of 
this palace, and saw several paintings by David 
Vizt. Brutus after the execution of his sons:—this 
is taken just at that moment, when having witnessed 
the execution of his sentence on his own children, 
and left Collatinus, his colleague, to see justice 
done on the other conspirators, he enters the room 


V 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


85 


where his wife and daughter, who had just heard 
the event, are in the last extremity of silent agony : 
the subject is dreadful, but the sentence was just; 
and however savage the deed may appear on a su¬ 
perficial view of it, yet I decidedly agree with Plu¬ 
tarch, for whose opinion I refer you to the life of 
Publicola. The oath of the Horaces by the same 
artist; also the Remorse of Orestes; the Flight of 
Cain; the Revolt of Cairo during Napoleon’s com¬ 
mand in Egypt; the Descent from the Cross; and 
several others of various merit, which are the works 
of pupils of David. We now recrossed the Seine, 
and went to see the grand bronze column in the 
Place Vendome; this monument was erected to 
commemorate the several victories gained by Napo¬ 
leon, and is formed entirely from the cannon taken 
in battle. Round this column from the pedestal to 
the capital, are twenty-one compartments, on which 
the artist has emblematically expressed the various 
exploits of this extraordinary man ; the explanatory 
'detail, however, which was once on the pedestal, is 
cut away—to obliterate, I suppose, the recollection 
of what the monument itself is still left to perpetu¬ 
ate ; the N’s and the Bees are chiselled off most of 
the works erected by Napoleon, with the same 


36 


A TOUR 




view. How shallow is this policy, when it is recol¬ 
lected, that a man may be as well remembered by 
his misfortunes, as by his glory; and the dis¬ 
figuring of the buildings will be as lasting a me¬ 
mento of the motive for doing it, as the N’s and Bees 
could have been of the Emperor who built them. 

* » 1 < 4 . 

• • - i 

« 

In the evening we went to the Cafe des Mille 
Colonnes. Before I enter into the particulars of 
this place, it will be proper to give you some idea 
of Parisian customs, respecting what in England 
would be called domestic economy. A very large 
portion of the families of this city spare themselves 
the trouble and inconvenience of a kitchen esta¬ 
blishment, and seek their repasts at Restaurateurs 
and Cafes, where every thing to gratify a French 
taste is always ready at command ; and a French 
lady, however high her rank, thinks nothing of en¬ 
tering the public dinner-room, crowded with visi¬ 
tors of various descriptions, but seats herself pro¬ 
miscuously at any vacant place, and falls to with as 
much sang-froid as you would do at your own table. 
Society is every thing here, domesticity nothing: 
every hour that is not passed in public, is a blank 
in the Parisian’s existence; and he is as cautious to 




ON THE CONTINENT. 


87 


avoid privacy, as if it were pregnant with infection, 
and the harbinger of death: the public breakfast, 
the public dinner, the public cafe, the dance, the 
play, the opera, and the midnight walk on the 
Boulevards—oh! this is life! at least a Frenchman’s 
life, who shrugs his shoulders at the lazy hour of 
sleep, that steps in here to stop his otherwise un¬ 
ceasing round of pleasure. 

The Cafe is a place, as its name implies, at which 
coffee is drank, and where liqueurs, ice, and such sort 
of refreshments are sold. I would not be in Paris, 
and miss seeing the beauty, who presides at the Cafe 
des Mille Colonnes, for the world, as she had been 
so much talked of; indeed I was a little selfish, 
even beyond the gratification of my curiosity, for 
what would you have said to me, if on my return 
to London, I could have given you no idea of the 
Parisian Venus ? 

a ^ • 

A large room, handsomely ornamented with pil¬ 
lars, is made to appear like a perpetual gallery, by 
the mirrors which cover the entire sides of it, and 
thus present to the view an immense extent of co¬ 
lumns ; hence the title of the place. At one side of 


* 


l „ » 

I 

83 A TOUR 

N » 

this magic illusion, is a handsome marble slab, rest¬ 
ing on supporters of the appearance of bronze; and 
here, on a chair of state, presides the genius of the 
place.— 

A diamond crescent decorates her brow, 

And rows of pearl divide her ebon hair; 

The verdant emerald clasps her slender zone. 

And orient sapphires on her bosom play. 

I should be getting into heroics, were I to allow 
myself to be carried away by such accumulated 
charms; I think I hear you exclaim, what pretty 
selection has he been making from the Arabian 
Nights’ Tales? I forgive you if you do, fori was 
myself nearly impressed with the idea of a vision 
when I entered the placeextravagance apart, 
she was dressed in splendid attire, richly orna¬ 
mented with diamonds and pearls, and actually pre¬ 
sided, as I have observed, with the apparent view 
indeed of taking the money, which the company 
paid to the waiters; but this she could have done in 
neat attire, at least as well. The actual object was 
to attract custom, and bring tout le monde to see 
the beauty, which she certainly was not, though by 
no means plain. The purpose is answered, for the 













ON THE CONTINENT. 


89 


Cafe is constantly filled in the evenings; and from 
being the poor wife of a half-pay officer, she has by 
this means contrived to make the condition of both 
independent, at least I am so informed. She com¬ 
plained much, I understood, of the incivility of the 
English, who took every opportunity of turning her 
into ridicule : I thought proper to stand the cham¬ 
pion of my country on this occasion, and got into 
conversation, that I might impress her with some 
notion at ieast of its politeness; for I would not 
allow even the mistress of a Cafe, in a rival king¬ 
dom, to suppose that we were wanting in such an 
essential as good manners. Many of our country¬ 
men, who know well enough how to conduct them¬ 
selves in the society of their superiors and equals, 
are very prone to relax in civility when amongst 
their inferiors ; bringing their own class into disre- 

9 

pute, exactly where, for the quiet of society, it is 
most desirable they should secure respect, and show 
by their deportment that they have a better title to 
their rank in life, than the mere accident of having 
been born to it. 

» 

iC Enough unto the day is the evil thereof,” and 
enough unto this had been the business and exercise 


90 


% 

A TOUR „ 

/ l 

of it and 1 must take this occasion of quitting my 
subject for a time, as I then did my fatigue, to re¬ 
novate my spirits and recruit my tired pen, that it 
may be enabled to resume the narrative with just 
that interest which at first inspired it; my exhausted 
taper scarcely glimmers in the socket, and but gives 
me just light enough to say good night. 


I 



\ 


* } 


sj, t * V 


\ 


N 



t • 




l , 


I 







ON THE CONTINENT. 91 

LETTER V. 

Paris. 

JLVXY last concluded with our visit to the Cafe des 
Mille Colonnes, after a day full of business. On 
the following morning, we went to see the founda¬ 
tions which had been laid for the palace of the 
young King of Rome ; but I am so little conversant 
in architecture, that though I saw the plan of the 
intended building, I could form no correct idea of 
what its appearance would have been, if finished ; 

you will not be so unreasonable, I am sure, after 

♦ 

this, to expect any account of it. 

« ► * • , < 

0 M 4 ' - , 

* ' * ’ J ^i < - £ 

Our next visit was to the Church of St. Sulpice, 

... L t r ' r * I 

which has nothing remarkable in it to warrant my 
taking up your time by any attempt at description ; 
I was pleased, however, that we went there just at 
the time we did, as a marriage ceremony was then 
commencing, and up to that moment I had never 
been a witness of one. The ceremony, as to sub¬ 
stance, must be pretty much the same in all Christ¬ 
ian countries, and it would be quite superfluous in 
me to draw any picture of the scene for one already 






92 


A TOUR 


married; I mean as to forms and protestations * but 
as every marriage varies in some degree, as to its 
effect on all but the parties concerned, it may not 

v \ 

be so unacceptable, if I attempt to give you some 
idea of the happy pair; for happy I must think they 
are, who possess so easy a turn of temper and taste, 
as to be pleased with each other, though totally 
wanting even in the shadow of a charm to make 
them interesting to any besides. Three-score years 
and ten is the scriptural limit to the life of man $ 
yet nothing daunted on the very verge of it, our 
tottering Paris, in a suit of salmon-coloured satin 
fringed with gold, leads forth his blushing Helen, 
ripe in the bloom of three and sixty summers: the 
northern winds, , tis true, had had their turn, and 
sapped the juice and shrivelled up the rind; but 
what of that ? the fruit had kept the tree, and fate, 
which rules o’er wedlock, could not bring the pro¬ 
per hand to pluck it, till life was in its twilight; 
her Paris had been ranging distant realms, while 
Helen’s charms had withered quite away. I hope 
the destinies don’t often play these sctirvy tricks 
upon the sex; for our new bride had nothing but 
the wrinkles of age and disappointed hope, to spoil 
a face originally good, and which forty years before 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


93 


would have inspired an interest in the beholders, 
equal at least to the ridicule which it now pro- 
voked. 

:) • ■ v : ■ •* 

We now drove to the Jardin des Plantes, or Bo¬ 
tanical Garden, and here we also saw the wild beasts 
and birds: the lion is much larger and handsomer 
than that at the Tower of London. I have little to 

s 

say of my observations here, my knowledge in bo¬ 
tany being very circumscribed, and a minute detail 
of the wild beasts would be no very interesting sub¬ 
ject to a lady; I shall hurry therefore from this 
place to the grand Elephant Fountain, which is si¬ 
tuated on the north side of the Seine, on the precise 
spot where the Bastile once stood. It was planned 
by Napoleon, for the purpose of supplying the city 
of Paris with soft water, which, at present, the in¬ 
habitants are obliged to purchase by measure of 
carriers who vend it about the streets. This, if 

i 

completed, would have been one of the most im¬ 
portant improvements to the city : the water was to 
have been forced by machinery from the canal de 
TOurcq, at several leagues distance $ which, on its 
arrival at the fountain, was to form a grand jet 
d’eau, and thence proceed through different chan- 





94 


A TOUR 


nels into the town. The model of the elephant in 
plaster of Paris is complete, and a figure from this, 
in bronze, of fifty-four feet in height, was to have 
rested on a grand marble pedestal; but since the 
abdication, little or nothing has been done to it. 
Public spirit is entirely at a stand, and I should not 
be surprised if this grand work were to fall to the 
ground, for .want of the projector ; like some other 
vast undertakings, which demanded the same genius 
to complete, that it had required to plan. 

In the evening we went to the Theatre Francois. 
The audience part is constructed in the horse-shoe 
form ; and from the low tier of boxes, sloping to¬ 
wards the pit, is a range of seats similar to those at 
the Opera House; the rest of the boxes are, in every 
sense of the word, suitable to the term they bear ; 
they are literally boxes, having no communication 
from their sides with one another, but merely an 
opening in front resembling a window without sash¬ 
es ; the two tiers above these are formed by co¬ 
lumns running up the extent of both, and the 

* 

spaces between them are the boxes, which are sepa¬ 
rated in the interior by green partitions ; these co¬ 
lumns support another tier, similar to the lower 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


95 


one, and which is surmounted with other pillars 
supporting the dome : it is little more than half the 
size of Drury-lane, and consequently much better 
adapted for seeing and hearing : it is lighted, in 
the audience part, in the same manner as their 
Opera House, with a single chandelier. The per¬ 
formances were Racine’s tragedy of Esther, and 
the comedy of the Absent Man. 

Tragedy is not the forte of the French; they are 
totally mistaken in themselves on this point: their 
great fault is, that in whatever they undertake they 
insist upon it they excel; and by so doing, they are 
frequently claiming admiration even for their very 
absurdities. The grimace of a French tragedian is 
truly alarming ; by the time of the catastrophe, he 
has worked it up to such a fearful pitch, that just 
as he is going to stab himself, you are doubtful 
whether the tortures of the colic will not be before¬ 
hand with the knife, and close the scene rather in 

i 

vinegar than blood. His grand effective point, in 
his own conceit, is the climax to which the tone of 
his voice is carried by his overwhelming agony; for, 
beginning on the treble key of a little girl endea- 
vouring to suppress her tears, he gradually works 


,, / 

4 




96 


A TOUR 


it up with increasing grimace, until it has arrived 
at the bellowing of an enraged Stentor; and all this 
is done in the gradations of an octave, till an En¬ 
glish auditor would be in alarm, lest the overcharge 
of woe should blow the hero into a thousand 
atoms. 

The comedian, however, is quite another person¬ 
age as to merit. As if nature had nothing to do 
with the agonies of the mind, the school of tragedy* 
has laid down rules for every movement and tone 
of voice in the delineation of them; while the 
buoyant spirits are left at their own disposal, as the 
peculiar favorite of nature, enjoying all her interest, 
and as it were spontaneously delighting all within 
sight and hearing. The truth is, that gaiety may 
safely be left at the mercy of the French ; they are 
all masters of it, from the foundation to the pinna¬ 
cle ; but melancholy, despair, and all the gloomy 

i 

passions, are known to them only by name: to 
be without hope, is a condition of mind which 
the Frenchman has yet to learn the feeling of, and 
to enable him to give any thing like a picture of it, 
he must be schooled; for though nature has charged 
him from the toe to the crown with mirth and 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


97 


laughter, she has not spared him from her stores 
of grief a single tear. 

On the following morning we took an early 
breakfast, because we had allotted to ourselves suf¬ 
ficient business for a long day. The morning was 
beautiful, and the scene enchanting, through which 
we passed to the Chateau of Malmaison, once the 
residence of the amiable Josephine ; here, prior to 
her divorce, she had spent much of her time, and 
here the Emperor Napoleon when oppressed with 
the burthen of state, had often found in her calm 
bosom a solace for the cares of his ambition. 
Since the divorce, indeed, she had never quitted the 
place, but like a recluse had remained shut up 
within the walls of it: she had caused a chateau 
to be erected on the brow of a hill, just beyond her 
park, as a residence for Prince Eugene Beauharnois, 
her son ; and it was her intention to have extended 
the boundary of her demesne, so as to have enclosed 
the new residence, but the abdication of Napoleon 
delayed the execution, till death, which soon fol¬ 
lowed, closed the scene on all her hopes and her 
misfortunes. 

Tour . 


G 



98 


A TOUR 


The French adore the memory of Josephine, and 
will even stop in the midst of their enthusiastic de¬ 
tails of the exploits of Napoleon, to censure him 
for the cruelty of the divorce; and considered in a 
moral sense, it justly merited their abhorrence ; but 
Emperors and Kings depend less on the virtue, 
than the policy of their measures, and Josephine, 
with that disinterestedness which had distinguished 
her through life, made the painful sacrifice of her 
happiness and importance, to fix the throne of her 
consort on a firmer foundation. 

The constant wars in which Napoleon was en¬ 
gaged, rendered his death no improbable event, and 
the land proprietors and monied interest of France 
were restless for the settlement of his succession, in 
order to secure property in its then existing chan¬ 
nel. There was no issue by Josephine, nor any 
probability that there would be; his victories in 
Austria presented a favorable opportunity to treat 
for an alliance, and though ambition, and perhaps a 
hankering after an union with one of the old families 
of Europe, may have had much weight with the 
Emperor, yet he had some excuse in the insecurity 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


99 


of the succession to his own family, and the anxiety 
of France that he should have an heir. Josephine 
saw precisely the state of things, and preferring his 
glory to her own peace, resigned her title to his 
person and his throne. 

Oh what a change since their first acquaintance! 
An officer in the Republican army, distinguished by 
his abilities, becomes enamoured of her, from the 
admiration with which she contemplated his rising 
fame; the passion was mutual, and they were 
united; she watches with anxiety the progress of 
his fortunes, and follows them, till they had reached 
the pinnacle of glory; and here, on the dizzy 
height to which he carried her, is she left alone and 
desolate! She did not sink from her exalted sta¬ 
tion ; the splendor of the empress, indeed, forsook 
her, for that belonged to the palace, and not to her 
retirement; but the dignity remained, for that was 
her own. She lived long enough to see the down¬ 
fall of those fortunes under other auspices, which 
had florished under hers; but this was no source 
of exultation to her; she saw the decline of his 
power with the deepest regret, but she had no 
second sacrifice to make for his preservation: she 



100 


A TOUR 


had the mortification to feel the uselessness of her 
first, and perhaps the painful reflection, that the 
very means adopted, at so great a cost, for his secu¬ 
rity, had only assisted to accelerate his fall; for by 
his union with the house of Austria he had weak¬ 
ened his interest with the republican party, who, as 
they could not have the free government they 
wished, were, at least, extremely anxious to keep 
the new dynasty unmixed with the blood of any of 
the old reigning families of Europe. 

The scene has however now closed upon the for¬ 
tunes of Josephine, the ebbing and flowing of its 
tide are over, and she is placed, at length, beyond 
the reach of its vicissitudes. 

Her taste was not French, neither in the arrange¬ 
ment of her house nor her gardens; it was too 
pure for the gaudy nothingness, which is constantly 
found in what are considered the best houses in Paris 
and its vicinity. Her gallery of paintings, which is 
beautiful, contains a fine marble statue of herself, 
which is considered a great likeness, and of which, 
I have no doubt, from its strong resemblance to a 
painting of her, which we saw in another part of 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


101 


the chateau; she must have been an extremely 
graceful woman in person, and her face, though not 
what would be called handsome, was, according to 
these portraits, exceedingly fascinating: there is a 
certain je ne sais quoi about it, in my opinion, 
which far surpasses all the tameness of regular 
beauty that is without that indescribable accom¬ 
paniment. 

We now visited the chambers, and saw that in 
which she and the emperor used to sleep \ it is very 
superb, but not large; the bed of it is extremely 
handsome. This room had never been used by her 
since the separation, but as if sacred to their union, 
had become useless on their divorce. We next 
visited the chamber which had been occupied by 
her since the other had been given up; it was 
merely neat and clean; it had nothing of state about 
it, and was no doubt so arranged by her to suit 
the private station into which imperial policy had 
returned her. 

We next rambled over the gardens, which are 
well laid out, but evidently running into disorder 
from neglect. In the piece of water which runs 






102 


A TOUR 


through the grounds, we saw the beautiful black 
swans of which she was so fond ; she had been ac¬ 
customed to feed them with her own hands, and 
they regularly came sailing towards the bank on 
seeing any persons approach, in hopes of food; 
but the fair hand of their mistress had now forsaken 
them, she had left the place for a still calmer resi¬ 
dence, and as if they read as much in every stran¬ 
ger’s eye that looked at them, they would retrace 
their course, murmuring, in melancholy music, the 
dirge of their lost friend. 

N. , . ■ 

She was particularly fond of botany, and spent 
much of her time among her plants, of which she 
had a most valuable and rare collection; her ten¬ 
derness was romantic, for her gardener told me 
that she could not bear to see him pruning them; as 
if they were animate and suffered from their wounds, 
she would frequently exclaim, oh! my poor plants!— 

\ M a 

however extravagant this may appear, and I admit 
it is so, yet I cannot but love the sensitive heart 
whence it issues—it is an excess of the right feeling, 
and makes no one unhappy but the gentle posses¬ 
sor of it; it is however too refined, too subtle, and 
makes the pain we feel for the grief of others 


i 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


103 


greater, even than what they suffer for themselves : 
there are but few who have such hearts, and as if 
it were a sin to have them, they are seldom happy; 
it is easy to see why this is, but perhaps impossible 
to discover the justice since we cannot see the 
crime. 

She was collecting materials to form a cabinet of 
natural curiosities, which would have been attached 
to her plant house, but she did not live to accom¬ 
plish it, and the interest for continuing the work 
had ceased with the projector of it; excepting, in¬ 
deed, what the encroachment of time, and the un¬ 
dermining of neglect had been doing ; every thing 
about her chateau and grounds remained as she had 
left them. Proposals had been made to Prince 
Eugene by the reigning family, for the purchase of 
Malmaison, but he loved the memory of his mother 
too well to listen to them, and the property is still 
in his own hands. 

We had become too much interested in the place 
to bid it the usual farewell of casual visitors, so 
plucking some leaves from an evergreen, that sha¬ 
ded a little temple of Cupid, we deposited them in 








104 


A TOUR 


our pocket books, as sacred to her memory $ and 
left the place with those sensations of melancholy 
interest, which the misfortunes of so amiable a mind 
could not fail to inspire. Peace to thy gentle spirit! 
In the elysium where thou dwellest, thou hast found 
thy proper home at last; thy companions are con¬ 
genial, and thy repose unceasing. I could not 
withdraw my eyes from the spot, till the turn of 
the road closed the view of the chateau, and here I 
exclaimed (as had once been done, in a melancholy 
mood, by him in whom all her affections had cen¬ 
tred)—Adieu Malmaison! 

We proceeded to St. Germain, but our minds 
were too much absorbed in our late gloomy visit, 
to allow of much attention to passing objects. 
There is something so dreary in reflecting on the 
grief which has burnt itself out; I do not mean 
that which has been exhausted by time or circum¬ 
stance, but that which makes the heart its fuel, 
and at last goes out because it has no more to 
burn. There is something so dreary in contemplat¬ 
ing this, that I am persuaded had she been alive, 
under all the influence of hopelessness and sorrow, 
I should not have felt half the painful sensation 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


105 


which the cure of death impressed me with. While 
there is life, however great the suffering, we do 
not see the total impossibility of removing the cause 
of pain, and setting all right again; or by turning 
the mind to some unlooked-for joy, obliterate the 
recollection of that which has been lost $ but when 
death has closed the scene, the intenseness of the 
affliction stares full upon us; we see that the victim 
of sorrow had no other remedy, that the iron grasp 
of misery had never relaxed, that there was no 
anodyne but death, no place of repose but the 
grave. 

On our arrival at St. Germain we ordered din¬ 
ner, and then went to visit the palace, which, in its 
zenith, had received the kings of France through 
many reigns, when they went to enjoy the diversion 
of hunting over the forest of Laye, in which the 
town is built; but like the princes it had once re¬ 
ceived, its splendor, too, and gaiety have passed 
away, and it now stands but as the tomb-stone to its 
departed grandeur. The last sound of its revelries 
has long since ceased to vibrate through its halls, 
and the corroding breath of time is crumbling all 
away. The owl and bat now keep quiet possession 


/ 


106 


A TOUR 


where monarchs once presided ,—“ sic transit gloria 
mundi.” 

. + ,-w 

The wood and park of this place is exceedingly 
pleasant, and the view of the forest from the ter¬ 
race is very fine \ here we rambled about till dinner 
time, as there was nothing else about the place to 
engage our attention. On returning to our inn we 
passed the house where poor Mrs. Jordan died; 
you no doubt remember the newspapers giving an 
account of her death, and observing, that the 
mourners at her funeral were merely accidental \ 
that two Englishmen, who happened to be passing 
the spot at the time the corpse was carried out for in¬ 
terment, followed her to the grave. What a me¬ 
lancholy summing up of all her influence over the 
human heart! for more than thirty years, she had 
enchanted her country with her delightful display 
of all the livelier passions of our nature: how many 
thousands in such a period must her vivacity have 
beguiled, for a time at least, of their tears and af¬ 
flictions ; unable from infirmity any longer to 

V 

please, she retires from the scene without a solace for 
her own, and steals in melancholy silence, unattend¬ 
ed by offspring or friend, into a foreign grave. I pre- 










ON THE CONTINENT. 


107 


tend not to look into causes for this bitter conclu¬ 
sion ; she had undoubtedly been liberal to others; 
and with all her numerous progeny, her eyes should 
not have been closed by strangers, nor her body 
consigned to the grave without a tear. 

In our excursion to-day we were accompanied by 
the sister of the gentleman to whom (as I have 
already observed) we were so much indebted for 
the facilities afforded us in our visits to the several 
public places in Paris ; she is a fine young creature, 
a native of Normandy, which boasts the handsomest 
women of France; you will not feel your pride 
offended if I add, that in form and face the women 
of this province bear more resemblance to the ladies 
of our country than to those of the other parts of 
their own. There is an amiable disinterestedness 
about her, amounting even to self-devotion, which 
compels you to esteem her heart, while you ques¬ 
tion her prudence. Her affections had been gained 
by a young French officer, who had signalised him¬ 
self under Napoleon, and such is the ardor of her 
love for him, that though without fortune on either 
side, yet is she determined on their union in spite 
of all the reasoning which her family have urged 


108 


A TOUR 


against it; and what adds to the interest of this 
affair is, that she is importuned by a rich merchant 
of Paris, who, of course , has all the good wishes 
of the more prudent heads of the family : but I am 
much mistaken if single-handed love will not prove 
more than a match for even this powerful phalanx. 
Oh love! though doomed to a perpetual infancy, 
yet art thou strong enough where’er thou strikest, 
to bring thy votary down; no shield can stay the 
arrow thou hast sped, and many a dart of thine 
lies rankling in the wounds thou hast made, from 
thy most wanton and capricious freaks. From all 
I have learnt of the sincere attachment of these 
lovers, I cannot but feel extremely interested about 
them. There is something however so inadmissible 
in an union without property on either side, that 
notwithstanding the influence of love may be strong 
enough to overmatch the phalanx marshalled on the 

i' 

side of the merchant, yet it will not be able to con¬ 
quer the more formidable arm of poverty which 
must forbid the union. Their passion therefore 
can only tend to her affliction and his reproach : 
for he 

Had follow’d pleasure upon heedless wings, 

Gath’ring the blossoms from fair fortune’s tree. 








ON THE CONTINENT, 


109 


And sipp’d the sweet dew from her opening buds: 
And now the season for the fruit i3 come. 

The ripening sun but darts his rays in vain ; 

The shady leaves but hide their barren stems. 

And autumn soon will come to shake them off. 

And show the fruitless branches that are left. 

- '■ _ I ' r 

Unfortunately for both, the death of his father, long 
before he became acquainted with her, left him, at 
a too inexperienced age, in possession of considera¬ 
ble property, and being of a lively turn of mind, he 
fell into a society that taught him to dissipate it 
without once dreaming of the future happiness 
which his folly was even then destroying. 

, ■ * ■ * i 1 

On the following day we visited the Louvre : my 
mind had been prepared for the grandeur of this 
place, from the effect which the first view of it had 
on an acquaintance of ours, who is a great judge, 
you know, and admirer of the fine arts, and who 
had seen it in its zenith, when adorned with the 
finest works of the world in sculpture and painting. 
The effect on him spoke more, as to its overpower¬ 
ing splendor, than all the volumes which have been 
written upon it: the sudden burst upon his classi¬ 
cal sight of such an assembly of the greatest heroes 


no 


A TOUR 


of ancient Greece and Rome, the dignity of whose 
aspects might for the moment impress one with all 
their living influence, completely subdued him, and 
he actually fainted away. Who could see the be¬ 
nignant, yet inflexible brow of Cato, and not re¬ 
member him at Utica, when the last struggle for 
his country had failed, and his resolution fixed not 
to outlive its liberty ? who would not remember, 
that though determined on death himself, he never, 
to the very moment of it, relaxed in his exertions 
for the benefit of others; and having resisted in 
vain the torrent of rebellion till driven back to the 
very verge of liberty he sunk, because he would 
not be carried by the impetuous tide one wave be¬ 
yond it ? who can think of this, and not feel the 
thrill that checks the current of the blood in its 
progress to the heart ? and if the sudden presence 
of one great hero can do this, what must the influ¬ 
ence be, when the whole elysium of them appear at 
once before you, when all the virtue, wisdom, he¬ 
roism of the ancient world is brought together, as 
it were, in one assembly of all that is dignified and 
great ? Our visit however to this splendid gallery 
was not likely to be productive of the effect I have 
mentioned; there had been sad havoc since that. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


Ill 


and many a solitary niche remains, and vacant pe¬ 
destal, with nothing but the names of the departed 
heroes who had filled them, and who had thus 
suffered, as it were, a second mortality, for they 

had lived first in nature, and then scarcely less ani- 
. !> 
mate in art, but they were now dead to both,—at 

least as their deserted pedestals would seem to im- 

ply. 

There are many pieces of sculpture still remain¬ 
ing, but almost all the finest works are restored to 
the countries from which they had been taken by 
the conquests of Napoleon. There is scarcely less 
reduction in the Gallery of Paintings, but more re¬ 
mains here of the great works, than in the other ; 
for there are many of the paintings of Raphael, 
Guido, Leonardo da Vinci, Poussin, Le Brun, &c. 
The paintings in the Gallery for living artists, are 
but sad vouchers for the talents of the modern 
school; they appeared to me little better than daubs, 
and in some instances, inferior to the signs on many 
of the shops of this city. 


We now proceeded to the Museum of Tombs ; 





1158 


A TOUR 


this is the place in which the monuments of the 
dead are deposited, which the exertions of M. Le¬ 
noir had preserved from the ravages of the revolu¬ 
tion; they had been taken out of the several 
churches in the night time, and secreted in the 
monastery of Les petits Augustins, where they es¬ 
caped the fury of the Sans-culottes, who could bear 
nothing which commemorated the great or learned ; 
and into whose destroying hands they would inevi¬ 
tably have fallen, had they been left within the 
walls of the churches, against which these infuriated 
levellers denounced their heaviest vengeance. These 
works of art had been placed in their new deposi¬ 
tory with the greatest order and ingenuity, for M. 
Lenoir had arranged them according to the cen¬ 
turies in which they had been executed; so that, on 
visiting the place, we had only to pass from room 
to room, observing the gradual improvement in the 
art from the eleventh century upwards; the inspec¬ 
tion of which must be exceedingly interesting to 
the artist and connoisseur. 

Without going into a detail of what we saw at 
this place, which consisted chiefly of a long line of 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


113 


kings and their common place eulogy,—I may be al¬ 
lowed to rescue one monument from the monotonous 
list, and pay the tribute of a tear to the memory of 
two lovers, over whose misfortunes the tide of seven 
hundred years has rolled, without washing the re¬ 
membrance of their sorrows away. There is little 
to rouse our sympathy in contemplating the splen¬ 
dour of crowns, or the ambition of the heads which 
wore them; we may thrill, indeed, at the exploits of 
glory,—or shudder at the wanton ravages of merci¬ 
less power;—but there is nothing here which comes 
home to the common feelings of our nature;—the 
victory is gained,—the pageant of the triumph has 
passed by,—and with the last flourish of trumpets, 
the interest of the scene expires. But ’tis not so 
with those incidents to which all mankind, whatever 
their condition, are liable to become the parties; 
and here, through the sympathy of our nature, are 
we brought to weep at the misfortunes of love, and 
to feel all that chilling blight which struck the hearts 
of Abelard and Eloisa, even in the infancy of their 
passion, with scarcely less bitterness upon our own. 
The tomb of these unhappy lovers was taken to 
pieces at the time we saw it at this museum, in order 
Tour . H 

* i 

» - 







t 14 


A TOUR 


to be re-erected at the cemetery of Pere Le Chase, to 
which place their remains had been already removed. 
Seven hundred years ago, when full of youth and 
beauty, and full of interest too, from the story 
of their loves, they were yet unable to procure 
for themselves, even the calm possession of each 
other; but now, when nothing but their dust re¬ 
mains, and the spirits which once informed it, are 
placed beyond the care of what the world may do 
with it, see what a host of pains is taken to keep 
them both together! 

y > 

We had hitherto deferred visiting Versailles \ we 
were anxious to see the grand display of fountains 
with which the gardens of that splendid palace 
abound, and we could not have been gratified 
had we made our excursion sooner; we pro¬ 
ceeded thither on the following Sunday, and 
having ordered dinner at 1’ Ho tel de France, we 
went to view this ultimatum of the sublime and 
beautiful of the French school; and I must confess 
they have some reason for the extravagant admira¬ 
tion which they bestow on this scene of Fairy Land, 
Ingenuity has been exhausted in its construction. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


115 


and though it presents nothing but studied order, 
and regular corresponding beauty in all its parts— 
totally without those spontaneous charms which the 
wildness of nature is constantly throwing in her de¬ 
lightful pathway,—yet is it arranged in such splen¬ 
dour of style, and total disregard of cost, that its 
very magnificence covers all the imperfections of 
its taste. 

In these gardens I discovered the reason for my 
utter contempt of those of Brussels and the Thuil- 
leries; the latter are mere affectations of what Ver¬ 
sailles really is, and I felt in the comparison that 
sort of sensation which the low and uneducated have 
inspired me with, in the awkward affectation of their 
superiors; their dress resembling in every thing but 
the costliness, and their deportment and look, in 
every thing but the grace and dignity. I am not 

partial to the taste, however, be it as savory as it 

\ r - . 1 . 

may, but this is, after all, the only way to make it pa¬ 
latable. Almost every walk leads to a splendid Jet 
d’Eau—not to the spouting of a little ill-shaped Cupid 
through a penny trumpet, as at Brussels; but to a 

fountain rushing in columns of crystal through a 

' * , * - , \ 

hundred mouths, to such a height, that the water 


116 


✓ 

A TOUR 

returns like mist into its spacious reservoir,—a recep¬ 
tacle worthy of the grandeur of the display, for it is 
bordered with a rich embankation of marble work, 
supporting a number of highly ornamented bronze 
vases of great solidity, and proportionably large to 
the fountain they encompass. The figures in the 
centre, from whence the waters issue, are finely 
wrought, and are emblematical of various river sub¬ 
jects. Conceive to yourself, for a moment, foun¬ 
tains of this magnitude, playing at the same time in 
every direction to which the eye is turned ; fancy to 
yourself the sound from the fall of so many waters 
whispering through a hundred avenues, embellished 
with marble statues of the Gods and Heroes of an¬ 
tiquity ; on one side a beautiful orangery which 
scatters its fragrance through the whole Elysium, 
and on another a palace, the extent and beauty of 
which, would be too great for every thing but the 
magic land which it surveys: look at all this in 
your mind’s eye, and let it wander from slope to 
slope down the beautiful marble steps which lead 
from one to the other, and you will form (if extrava¬ 
gant in fancy) some faint idea of the enchantment of 
the place. The waters which play in these grounds 
are supplied from Marly, and forced by machinery 


/ 






f 


ON’THE CONTINENT. 


m 


through immense pipes to a distance of nine 
miles. 

\ 

The interior of the palace is exceedingly grand, 
particularly in the saloons, which are named after 
certain of the Heathen Deities, and painted by the 
first masters, with subjects suitable to the title they 
bear. A servant in the royal livery conducts the 
visitor through the several apartments, to whom it 
is customary, though not necessary, to present a few 
franks for his trouble. 

We saw the chamber in which Louis the Four¬ 
teenth died ; and also the room in which he used 
sometimes to work, for he was fond of mechanics, 
and would frequently amuse himself in that pastime, 
when unengaged in his more delightful occupation of 
war. There is a private theatre and opera in this 
palace, which have been handsome in their time, 
but have now become dingy from neglect; enough 
of the gilding on the ornamental part remains to 
show how rich it had once been, and how tawdry it 
is now; no performances had taken place in them 
for a very considerable number of years, and from 
the present temper of the court, they are not likely 




118 


A TOUR 


ft <9 

to be soon renewed : there is no great occasion in¬ 
deed that they should be, since Paris is so close at 
hand, where theatres of every description abound. 

Napoleon very rarely visited Versailles, and when 
he did, he never took up his residence in the palace \ 
which, notwithstanding his vast love of dominion, 
he, even he , thought too grand, too magnificent, for 
his retirement from public business; he always pre¬ 
ferred the more simple abode of Le Petit Trianon, 
because it had little pomp about it. 

You will perceive that I have not attempted to 
give you any thing like a detailed description of the 

’s' 

palace; it was better to stop where I did, and leave 
the rest to your own fancy; in mercy to the archi¬ 
tect I have done this, because I know your taste is 
superior to mine, and on that account the magnifi¬ 
cence of the building will not be likely to suffer 
from my silence, nor your imagination. 

After all I have said in the course of my Tour, 
respecting the imperfect manner in which, from my 
limited visit to the continent, I am obliged to view 
the vast public works that are constantly presenting 




ON THE CONTINENT. 


119 


themselves to my notice, you will not now feel dis¬ 
appointed that I have said so little, but perhaps ra¬ 
ther wonder that I have written so much. I have in¬ 
deed been more prone to obtrude my own remarks, 
and to wear you out, I fear, with my tiresome con¬ 
ceits on the various objects that have presented them¬ 
selves, than to give you any thing like a cool and 
dispassionate description of the actual face of things. 
I have not been contented merely to sketch the sur¬ 
face of objects as I have seen them, but have ven¬ 
tured (rather rashly perhaps) to plunge a little be¬ 
yond, and write as I have felt them : I shall offer 
no apology for this, because you wished my letters 
to be long, and I had no better way of making them 
so,—for reason and moral present a wide field to di¬ 
late in. I may indeed have made but indifferent 
work of it, yet it has, nevertheless, enabled me to 
comply with your wishes; so that I have kept my 

promise, whatever I may have done with my judg- 

✓ 

ment. We are now about to visit the vale of Mont¬ 
morency, and I shall commence my next letter with 
an account of that excursion; but before I begin it, 
this scene of constant gaiety in which we have per¬ 
formed our part with unceasing activity, will have 
given place to the more silent, but not less alluring^ 



f 


•• 


120 A TOUR 

charms of the arcadia of the once happy Swiss." 
Yes, once happy! for ye were the last of Europe 
who preserved the innocence of rustic life. Secure 
in your own humility, your condition could neither 
provoke envy, nor inspire fear; like the children of 
one family, you lived in concord together, and ranged 
your native mountains, without wishing to pass a 
single foot beyond them: free from ambition, and 
with few desires, you were not merely resigned to 
your poverty, but were happiest in it. The times, 
however, are now changed; your society has been 
broken in upon by your less peaceful neighbours, 
and the intrusion has poisoned, for ever, the pure 
sources of your native simplicity* 

I suppose you will think, on reading this apos¬ 
trophe, that I might as well have deferred it till my 
next letter, as it would come more in character 
from the bosom of their own mountains, than 
breathed, as it now is, through the medium of a 
Parisian atmosphere ; but no matter, I happen to be 
in the humour for it now, and perhaps it is better 
to take my fancies at their own time than to put 
them off till mine, lest they should not be ready 
when I want them; and I know you will be better 




' v 1 






ON THE CONTINENT. 


12 1 


pleased to have it as it is, at the time it will reach 
you, than wait till I could adjust my letter to the 

rigid rules and forms of criticism. You must not 

✓ * 

expect to hear from me for some time, as I shall 
not write till my arrival at Lausanne, and I mean 
to loiter a little of my time away in my progress 
thither. 

1 spend a great portion of my nights in writing to 
you, because I find ample employment in the day 
to fill up my time from breakfast till supper; but 
I am happy to do this, as it is a pleasure I would 
have indulged myself in, even if I had not pro¬ 
mised you the account of my Tour: but what¬ 
ever delight I enjoy in the execution of it, I never 
leave it off to repair to rest, but a gloom and me¬ 
lancholy succeed to the pleasure of the task. The 
dead of night is not a season, under any circum¬ 
stances, for the happy association of ideas; it is in¬ 
deed the hour to renovate exhausted nature, and 

bring man back to ail his wonted vigour; but sleep 

/ 

is not only a medicine for our weariness,—it is a me¬ 
mento also of the inevitable lot of man: and if 
under any circumstances, at such a time, a train of 




122 


A TOUR 


gloomy thoughts obtrude themselves upon us, how 
must it be with him, whose wayward fortune has 
blighted every hope ? who has seen so fair a por¬ 
tion of life pass from him, without smile or sun¬ 
shine, to cheer it as it went,—and who is journeying 
on in the bleak chilly path of what remains, in all 
the weary sameness of the past. 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


123 


LETTER VI. 


Lausanne . 

I had not finished my last letter to you from Paris 
till three in the morning, and got so beset with the 
blue devils from a bad headach, and the melan¬ 
choly beating of torrents of rain against my window, 
together with the lateness of the night, and my con¬ 
sciousness that I ought to have been fast asleep long 
before that time, that when I got to bed I could do 
nothing with it. 

I am persuaded, more than ever, that there is 
something in the nature of night which acts like 
poison on the mind awake, and that man in a state 
of sleep during that season, is not only benefited by 
the renovating power of rest, but shielded by his 
slumber from the baneful influence which a sunless 
atmosphere would otherwise have upon his animal 
spirits. The breath of Hygeia fans off the noxious va¬ 
pours which night breathes around the ^^-pressed 
couch, till the sun’s rising beam relieves the watch¬ 
ful sentry from her guard. I had been too thought- 


t 
















124 


A TOUR 


ful all night to benefit much from this guardian of 
health, for she deserts us if we wake, whether the 
sun be up or not; and as my restless night had left 
my head in a worse plight than it found it, we de¬ 
ferred our visit to Montmorency till the following 
day, and spent this in lounging about Paris, and 
making purchases. Indeed, I should have told you 
before this, that I have not forgotten to provide 
something for the decoration of your person, as it 
would be too bad to consider your mind alone, and 
treat you with nothing but descriptions, while there 
are novelties of silk, as well as of scenery. I shall 
not tell you now what I have done in this way, so 
that your curiosity will thus be on the alert, and it 
will be more welcome when you receive it through 
the medium of my hand, if I avoid presenting it to 
you now through that of my pen. 

Having made our purchases for our own use, and 
for presents to our friends, we took a drive about 
the Boulevards, and then went to see the new church 
called the Pantheon. It is not yet finished, though 
nearly so, and when completed will be a grand ad¬ 
ditional ornament to a city, already abounding in the 
most magnificent public buildings. In the vaults 







ON THE CONTINENT. 125 

below, we saw the tombs of Rousseau, Voltaire, 
and the Duke de Montebello their marble monu¬ 
ments were not finished, so that we saw little else 
than the depository of their ashes. In passing from 
this cold abode of death and twilight, in order to 
ascend the church, a violent storm of thunder and 
rain burst suddenly over us; it was preceded by a 
whirlwind, which rushed in through the two open 
doors at the extremities of the building, and which 
seemed as if disposed to carry us up the shortest 
way into the doom ; it was with difficulty we kept 
our legs, the gust was so sudden and violent. The 
thunder which instantly followed, sounded as if the 
holy edifice were split asunder, and peal succeed¬ 
ing peal, and flash succeeding flash, in torrents of 
rain, all re-echoing through the vaults below us, 

and accompanied with the darkness of a dismal 

* 

night, had altogether so powerful an effect, that I 
never remember one so awful;—it seemed like the 
prelude to the last trumpet;—like the call for si¬ 
lence, before the final blast which is to summon all 
to judgment. 

We dined on this day at the greatest Restaurateur 
in Paris—Beauvilliers. I have already given you an 










126 


A TOUR 

account of the manner of going on at these places, 
when I spoke of the Cafe des Milles Colonnes; so 
that it would be superfluous to say any thing fur¬ 
ther on this subject; let it suffice, that the female 
presidency in splendid array, is kept up here as at 
the other great places, before a marble slab, with 
bronze supporters. 

On the following morning we visited the cemetery 
of Pere Le Chase, which stands on a high hill over¬ 
looking the entire city of Paris. This place was 
once the demesne of the Confessor of Louis the 
Fourteenth, whose name it still bears; the chateau 
in which he resided is still standing, but it is little 
else now than a ruin. A great part of the deceased 
Parisians are buried in this ground, so that their 
persons have found in death a more elevated resi- 

m - -4 V , . 

dence than their living abodes;—may their spirits 
have found it so too 1 Having entertained ourselves 
with viewing the city from this eminence, together 
with the strong fortress of Vincennes which is right 
in view, we took a ramble amongst the tombs: 
here we saw on many a monument a solitary bunch 
of flowers, which love or duty had bestowed upon 
it as a tribute to the remembrance of what its silent 




ON THE CONTINENT. 


127 


tenant once had been; but, like the mortals under¬ 
neath, their bloom was faded too, and all their 
sweetness fled, like incense that just breathes upon 
the altar and expires. It is a custom here to visit 
the tombs of deceased relatives or friends at stated 
periods, and offer up prayers for their eternal rest; 
the motive is pious and charitable, and whatever 
may be the religion of the spectator of such a 
ceremony, he cannot but wish they may be granted. 
At a distance from us, we observed a group busily 
at work in preparing a grave, and conceiving from 
their number that they were about something more 
important than the common order of interment, we 
advanced towards them, and found they were de¬ 
positing in a stone vault, which had been prepared 
for the purpose, the remains of Abelard and Eloisa, 
for ever lost “ to Paraclete’s white walls and silver 
springs.” Their monument, which we had seen at 
Les Petits Augustins, was now at this cemetery, that 
it might be erected over their new dug grave, to 
commemorate their third funeral. 

We now passed through the Barriere de St. 
Denis on our way to Montmorency; the storm of 
the preceding day had laid the dust, and cooled the 



128 


i 


A TOUR 


air, so that our excursion was exceedingly pleasant; 
the same gentleman who had accompanied us when 
we visited I’Hotel des Invalides, was our companion 
on this occasion, and from his acquaintance with the 
country, and his affability of manners, we found him 
a valuable acquisition to our party. After passing 
the little town of St. Denis, the country became 
delightful, and as we approached the vale of Mont¬ 
morency, the scenery continued to improve upon us, 
from its romantic beauties; we passed through 
roads like walks of gardens, bordered with fruit 
trees, and from the open carriage we plucked abun¬ 
dance of cherries of the most delicious flavour. A 
couple of peasant boys kept trotting on foot by the 
side of us, tendering their services to guide us 
through the lovely vale before us, and presenting 
us with wood strawberries which they had just ga¬ 
thered ; they entertained us with a duet in half- 
breathed notes, which the steep ascent of the hill 
we had just passed, had set to music for them, and 
they were as perfect • in it, as short breath, at least, 
could make them ; yet nothing relaxing in their 
importunity for employment, they increased their 
clamour as we approached the village, for they knew 
well enough, that the entire juvenile population of 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


129 


the place were on the look out for customers of our 
sort, and that their hopes of success might thus be 
lessened with every step of their advance, unless 
they urged their suit stoutly while they had the 
opportunity; and to this end they exerted every 
nerve. 

On our arrival, we found that the rising genera¬ 
tion of Montmorency had no other occupation than 
the precarious one of conductor to strangers: we 
were now beset at every point by all who saw us, 
except our late attendants ; and these, (with all the 
confidence of lovers, who feel that they have made 
the best use of the time which fortune had enabled 
them to pass with their mistresses,) kept in the rear 
of the fresh besieging party with apparent indiffer- 
ence and self-complacency. The rogues knew well 
enough, (young as they were,) that the impression 
was made, and they looked over the heads of their 
rivals merely to catch the assenting nod. It would 
have been but justice to have punished their confi¬ 
dence with the neglect which it merited; but nature 
is stronger still than that; we remembered the 
mile they had run up hill with us, and the industry 
with which they had courted our favour;—the song 
Tour . % I 




130 


A TOUR 


they sung us at our pleasure, and the fruit which 
we received at theirs:—we were women every inch 
of us, even I among the rest, and the assenting nod 
was given. Oh! had you seen them pass in triumph 
through the crowd of importuning boys who had 
beset us, dismissing them from their useless perse¬ 
verance, and advancing to us with all the confidence 
of superior claim, you would have smiled at the 
metamorphose which success can make upon an 
humble suppliant. Look to this, all-conquering 
woman ! Men are your slaves,—the humblest suitors 
for a very smile;—they speak upon their knees, if 
you but bless them with the sunshine of your pre¬ 
sence;—you are their oracle, their'guiding star, 
their life, their health, their fortune ; what they say 
is all in deference to your better sense:—break but 
their chain,—give the assenting nod, and they are 
all the boys of Montmorency Vale. 

With our lively guides we now sallied forth, and 
proceeded through one of the most enchanting wilds 
I ever traversed ; down slopes bordered with labur¬ 
num, and through groves of chesnut full of bloom, 
intersected with meandering streams, whose shaded 

banks are crowned with the arbutus; here and 

* 






ON THE CONTINENT. 


131 


there, among the thickest of the foliage, sat some 
sweet young girls, employed in knitting lace; their 
lovely faces blushing through the verdure which 
enclosed them, and catching oft and on with their 
bright eyes the sun’s rays as they moved them, 
looked like wild roses with the dew upon them. 
Further within the vale, and where the sun could 
scarcely penetrate, a group of youths had assembled 
to play at ball; the space in which they held their ex¬ 
ercise was cleared of all the underwood, and form¬ 
ed a spacious square, with no other impediment to 
their sport, than here and there a beech or lime tree, 
which remained as supporters to the network of 
ivy which canopied the place :—the loftier trees, 
which formed the boundary to the spot, added to 
the shade, and fanning with the breeze, through the 
interstices of the verdant roof, increased the cool¬ 
ness of this retired scene. I could have joined in 
their game with all the relish of my school-boy re¬ 
collection, for the players here were students of a 
seminary near at hand, and every way my equal $ 
but I was not invited to join them, so continued a 
mere looker on, with just the same sensation that 
I have often felt as a boy, when, in casting lots for 
players, I had drawn an unpropitious one, and was 


132 


A TOUR 


condemned to be a mere cutter of notches for the 
game which I had been burning to play. 

Having witnessed their sport for a while, we pro¬ 
ceeded further into the vale through many a wind¬ 
ing course of woodbine and wild jasmine, till we 
reached the hermitage of Jean Jacques Rousseau. 
It is as romantic and retired as the sombre taste of 
that extraordinary genius could desire. It is a neat 
small building in the bosom of the vale, like a mo¬ 
nument dedicated to solitude. Here we were in¬ 
formed that he wrote several of his works; and, in¬ 
deed, the silence of the place must have greatly 
favoured that uninterrupted train of thinking so ne¬ 
cessary to the composition of works of philosophy. 
He was not happy here, as his abrupt departure from 
the place has proved ; the lines written underneath 
his bust in the garden by the lady to whom the her¬ 
mitage belonged,(for it was not Rousseaus property 
though called by his name,) are expressive of her 
sorrow at his leaving the place. To say merely that 
he was not happy here, would be giving but a very 
imperfect picture of his mind, for he was happy no¬ 
where : the melancholic was his temperament, and 
though philosophy was his fort, it was not strong 

















ON THE CONTINENT. 


13 3 


enough to protect him against the shafts of discon¬ 
tent, nor persuasive enough to teach him to despise 
the frowns of fortune. He looked at human life in 
all its darkest shades, and looked so keenly too, 
that many a cheering incident passed by him un¬ 
enjoyed, even unnoticed ; he dreaded so much the 
thorns that might tease him in his progress, that 
nothing of the fruit, which hung in clusters by them, 
was seen or tasted: his very joys created melan¬ 
choly, for as their duration was uncertain, he mis¬ 
trusted them,—as they were transient, he looked 
only towards the hour when they should cease. In 
the latter period of his life he was in England, and 
for some time enjoyed a pension, which was privately 
conferred upon him through respect for his talents, 
and a generous feeling for his dependent condition : 
for a while he was contented with this improvement 
in his circumstances, because he considered the grant 
as a mere liquidation of a debt due to his abilities; 
and under this impression his independent spirit had 
suffered nothing in the receipt of it. He was con¬ 
stantly invited to the tables of the great, who admired 
his genius, and courted his conversation j but he had 
got the notion at last into his head, that he was in¬ 
vited merely to satisfy curiosity, and that he was 


134 


A TOUR 


thus to be shown about, as any other extraordinary 
creature, till the rage for seeing him should have 
subsided : he saw himself in chains, like a wild beast, 
led about from place to place, and became disgusted 
at the ridiculous pictures which his own feverish 
imagination was continually painting; he was too 
quick,—too susceptible, in all that related to him¬ 
self, ever to be tranquil: so tenacious was he of in¬ 
dependence, that poverty, with all its bitter priva¬ 
tions, could not make it so unpalatable to him as the 
world’s wealth without it; the first moment he had 
a doubt whether it had not suffered by his accep¬ 
tance of fortune, he renounced all title to her smiles, 
and abandoning his pension left England in disgust, 
and was at length reduced to seek a precarious sub¬ 
sistence, by copying music in a garret near Paris, 
where he died in great distress. 

“ Wise Fool! with pleasures too refined to please. 

With too much spirit to be e’er at ease. 

With too much quickness ever to be taught. 

With too much thinking, to have common thought; 

Who purchase pain, with all that joy can give. 

And die of nothing but a rage to live.” 

\ 

We now returned to our hotel, and having satis- 













ON THE CONTINENT. 


135 


lied our young guides with money and provisions, 
we sat down to our dinner, which the long ramble 
in the vale had prepared us to enjoy ; we continued 
chatting over some excellent Burgundy and delicious 
fruit, till it was high time to think of our journey 
back to Paris, where we arrived about eleven o’clock, 
and found the city illuminated. The king had re¬ 
viewed the Garde Nationale in the morning, and in 
consequence there was this manifestation of rejoicing 
at night. As you have seen a review, and an illumi¬ 
nation also, it might appear superfluous to give 
you any description of them here; but as there was 
much novelty in the arrangement of the one, (the 
account of which I had from a spectator of it,) and 
very little light in the composition of the other, 
(which I saw myself,) it may not be quite so unin¬ 
teresting as it would at first appear. 

It was understood that twenty thousand men 
were to have been reviewed at eleven o’clock ; but 
no more than six thousand made their appearance. 
They were all under arms at ten, waiting the arrival 
of the king, and at two in the afternoon the cannon 
gave notice of his approach ; it was somewhat tire¬ 
some to Parisian nerves to be kept so long on the 


136 


A TOUR 


tiptoe of expectation ; but what of that you’ll say,— 
the delay, no doubt, was occasioned by the splendid 
preparations necessary to usher in so vast a person¬ 
age. He comes at last;—of course the air resounds 
with acclamations, and in an instant, in the centre 
of his Marshals, borne on a fiery charger, sparkling 
in rich caparison, bends to the greetings of enrap¬ 
tured thousands. ’Tis all illusion ! Silence for once 
had possessed the city of Paris, at least the Boule¬ 
vards, and the review proceeds with all the solem¬ 
nity of funereal ceremony. In a carriage of state 
drawn by eight horses, with the windows close up— 
to keep out, no doubt, the chilly winds of August,— 
sits the king ; who having thus passed in slow time, 
between the lines which are drawn up on each side, 
completes the labours of the martial day:—the 

troops are dismissed, and the yawning population 

# 

return to their homes in silent admiration of the 
grand spectacle. 

The brilliancy of such a day could not be sud¬ 
denly extinguished, and at night we find its depart¬ 
ing rays still gilding the city with a glimmering 
light. To speak less figuratively, a few candles 
scattered here and there, at respectful distances from 





















ON THE CONTINENT. 137 

each other,—one or two in the attic of this house, 
and two or three in the parlour of that,—lighted up 
the town with just that sort of beauty, which a few 
straggling hairs display on a bald head; the one 
served to show the paucity of interest which the 
Parisians felt, and the other the quality of the orna¬ 
ment of which it was so deficient. It would have 
been better for the city had its darkness been less 
visible, and for the head had it been hid under a 
wig. 

With this last sentence I bid adieu to Paris. I 
have no more to say in praise or censure, and quit 
the subject, as I have done hundreds of others that 
have furnished pleasure for a while, by tickling the 
fancy without touching the heart: my sojournment 
there has been rather frivolous than profitable, yet 
not altogether useless, since it has served to show 
me something more of mankind than I could have 
learnt without it $ yet I have left it without a sigh. 
This, I confess, is treating a great city with but little 
respect, particularly when I add, that even a clump 
of trees, or little brook, has received from me a 
kinder farewell. The separation of companions in 
cities does not impress like the adieu which is bid 


138 


A TOUR 


in solitude and retirement;—the first deprives us 
of little but local pleasure and dissipation, and the 
sadness which follows it finds relief in every fresh 
scene of amusement; but retirement is the climate 
in which love and friendship grow wild, as it were, 
or rather, where every thing contributes to their 
growth. The branches of the plants which flourish 

/ 

in its soil, unite by uninterrupted intercourse, and 
blend together in one congenial vegetation; they 
cannot be divided without violence,—they must be 
torn asunder to be separated. In large and popu¬ 
lous cities there is no time for imperceptible union ; 

V 

a first impression is forced to yield to the persever¬ 
ing pressure of novelty; nothing is allowed to take 
root or become engrafted ; we just find time, per¬ 
haps, to form an attachment, and the object of it is 
hurried away in the crowd that surrounds us; a 
fresh acquaintance, or more fashionable lover, next 
attracts her,—holds for a little time his fleeting in¬ 
fluence, and then, in turn, makes room for some 
more welcome successor; thus we brush against 

f . 

each other in a continual round, but seldom unite;— 
when we quit society like this we do not separate,— 
we only depart; we have laughed with the gay, and 
joked with the witty; we have played our part on 
















ON THE CONTINENT. 


139 


the stage of pleasure, and retire, unnoticed, from a 
scene where there are too many together for us to 
be missed. Under these impressions I quitted Paris, 
and scarcely felt it necessary to seek fresh amuse¬ 
ments to soften the anguish of our farewell. 

I cannot conclude this letter without observing 
that it closes every thing connected with la gaiete; 
no further description of plays, of operas, of great 
public buildings, paintings, or statues, must be ex¬ 
pected henceforth in my Narrative. I am about to 
begin an account (if such I may call it) of my pro¬ 
gress through woods and vineyards, to a country 
abounding in the wonders of nature, not of art. 


140 


A TOUR 




LETTER VII. 



Lausanne 


On the morning following the splendid illumina¬ 


tion, having furnished ourselves with some excellent 



wine and dried provisions, as a precaution against 


the unpalatable fare of some poor villages, at which 
we might be obliged to put up on our journey to 
Switzerland, we set forward on our route by the 
way of Melun; here we arrived in the cool of the 
evening, and took a walk about the town and its 
vicinity. 

It was at this spot, you may remember, that the 
great stand was to have been made by the Bourbon 
army against the further advance of Napoleon, 
when he was taking his pleasant walk from Frejus 
towards the capital, after his quitting Elba. But 


that I may not be tempted, by the historical impor 


tance of the place, into any political detail for which 


this subject furnishes abundant matter, and which 
at some future day will fill one of History’s most 



































ON THE CONTINENT. 


141 


conspicuous pages, I shall say no more of Melun, 
than that we remained there for the night. 

♦ 

On the following morning we proceeded on our 
way to Sens, about fifteen French leagues from 
Melun. I shall not halt here to give you any de¬ 
scription of the churches, as I used to do on the 
journey prior to our reaching Paris. I am not 
aware, indeed, of any thing worth communicating; 
but independently of this, I fear I am getting rather 
careless on the point, and I know not what cause to 
attribute it to, unless the example which has been 
set me in the indifference of the Parisians to every 
thing connected with the subject, may have tainted 
me with their distaste; or, perhaps, the sameness of 
the descriptions may at length have tired even the 
author of them. When I began my Tour, every 
thing was new to me, and the most trifling object 
or incident was received as welcome food into the 
hungry sheets of my first epistles; but my pages 
have since been crammed to satiety with the homely 
fare, and must now be humoured into appetite, by 
the allurement of some savory sauce, before they can 
be coaxed to the meal; for, after all, there is a 
tincture of self-interestedness, even in the best of 


» 


f 


142 


A TOUR 


mankind, that prompts him to please himself a little 
in whatever he may do for the entertainment or 
benefit of others;—I need not, therefore, offer apo¬ 
logy for feeling the necessity of such an impetus to 
my epistolary pastime; and although the pleasure 
of writing to you, would give a piquancy to an other¬ 
wise even insipid subject, yet I must find novelty 
now and then to communicate, or ennui would in¬ 
evitably put a stop to my exertions. Having thus 

prefaced my further proceedings, I shall advance 

* 

without the fear, which I should otherwise have, of 
falling short of your expectations. 

Having enjoyed a charming drive in a rich and 
arable country, through which the high road runs 
from Sens to Auxerre, we alighted about midway 
between those towns, and took a walk towards the 
banks of the river Yonne, which meanders about 
the enchanting scenery of that fertile spot; there, in 
a most delightful dale, that slopes to the very edge 
of the river, we were induced to loiter away an hour 
or two, and so desired our cocher to bring our 
basket of cold provision and wine, that we might 
regale ourselves in all the romantic luxury of the 
place. Our carriage was drawn up as near as cir- 



















ON THE CONTINENT. 


143 


cumstances would permit, to our delightful retreat; 
and thus removed from the notice of the public 
road, we were as secure from interruption as if the 
enchanting spot had been our own ; and so it was 
indeed, while in possession, for what use could we 
have made of it, had even the title-deeds been ours, 
but to enjoy it. As we made a dinner of our repast, 
we had no particular object to hurry us on to 
Auxerre, so we continued our ramble about the 
place beyond the time we had at first intended ;— 
but what of that ? To pass away an hour or two of 
life in such calm pleasure, may not square, indeed, 
with the dry calculations of the mercenary specula¬ 
tor, who knows no value in time but the pecuniary 
profit to which it may be applied, and who admits 
no wealth but what he can negotiate on the Ex¬ 
change ; to such an one, I should plead in vain, 
that my time had not been unprofitably spent, when 
I had gained instruction and pleasure from nature, 
at no greater cost than the time required to receive 
and to enjoy it; but you, whose reasoning is not 
confined to the narrow limits of counting-house 
philosophy, need not be told by me, that it is in 
such an hour or two as I have mentioned, we are 
let into the important secret, that happiness is not 


144 


A TOUR 


so difficult of access as the world in general ima¬ 
gine ; that rational pleasure is within the reach of 
most of us; and that content depends, not upon the 
vast possession of wealth, but upon the moderation 
of desire. 

We now bade adieu to our shady retreat, but 
not till we had carved our names in full, on a young 
beech, whose thick foliage had sheltered us from 
the overpowering heat of a cloudless sun : there, in 
love of the place, we have recorded ourselves, and 
there, in all probability, we shall continue to 
flourish, long after we shall have been forgotten 
by all, but the angry Dryads who saw the wounds 
inflicted: the beauty of the place will preserve it 
from the rude hand of the woodman, and our 
names will be protected by the influence of its 
charms, till time, which changes the face of all 
things, shall wither the characters with the bark, 
and wipe us off the sylvan register, where we now 
live so green and flourishing. 

On our arrival at Auxerre, we desired to be driven 
to the best inn of course; but as best depends al¬ 
ways on the taste or interest of him who recom- 


















ON THE CONTINENT. 


145 


mends, we can form no idea of what is meant by it, 
till we are permitted to judge for ourselves in the 
experiment. I remember once hearing a gentle¬ 
man, who was passionately fond of music, observe, 
that he always made a point of being early at a con¬ 
cert, in order to get the best seat, which, in his 
opinion, was that nearest the orchestra. I could 
not make out how it was so, since I had always 
myself preferred a more distant situation, till I found 
that he was hard of hearing, and the riddle was ex¬ 
plained. Now the best inn, if you happen to en¬ 
quire of a gourmand in the street, is, where the 
eating is richest and most plentiful; and if of a dis¬ 
ciple of Bacchus, where the wine is most inspiring : 
perhaps it was of one of these that our cocher en¬ 
quired, when he was directed to the Hotel de-: 

but as a good night’s rest was our chief considera¬ 
tion, we made a point, on alighting, to see about 
the chambers; and all the choice afforded was three 
wretched beds in one worse room, which was no 
very inviting prospect where a single lady is con¬ 
cerned. We did not wait to find out in what our 
guide’s notion of best consisted; nor did we ever 
discover, or indeed care about it, since we found at 
Tour. K 



I 


146 A TOUR 

the Leopard every thing we desired, and set off the 
following morning for Rouvray. 

*• ; - i,.t- * fi •*.- 1 j '• • *• 

As there was a good deal of hill-work for the 
horses in this day’s journey, we were not able to 
reach that town, and were obliged to put up at a 
lone house, at ten o’clock at night, about a mile out 
of the public road. The appearance of the place was 
rather against it, to those whose taste the use of 
comforts had spoiled for flock beds, jack-towel 
sheets, and sanded tile floors; but where there is 
no choice, the proudest must yield :—we had walked 
up several of the hills, to save our horses, in the 
course of the day ; and fatigue is not much disposed 
to quarrel with any place of rest. 

A large kitchen divided my room from that of 
my companions; and in a recess, at one extremity of 
it, was a bed, screened by a dirty old red-and-white 
chequered curtain, full of large holes; through one 
of which, at each extremity, we were greeted, on 
entrance, by a grim face, surmounted with a red 
cap, which once, no doubt, in its earlier servitude, 
had been able to confine the stubble which it en- 














ON THE CONTINENT. 


147 


compassed ; but, alas! subdued by its hard duty, it 
could no longer keep under the refractory bristles, 
which now stood on end through the breaches of 
their prison. Conceive to yourself a welcome of 
this sort, in a lone house, at the entrance of a wood 
nine miles through; and when you feel the alarm 
getting master of you, imagine a whispering from 
various quarters, without being able to see the 
mouths from whence it issued; then, when you 
have worked up your fears to an almost over¬ 
whelming pitch, just fancy to yourself, on suddenly 
looking up, an arm extended from a hole in the 
ceiling, beckoning a tall figure, with a belt and 
hatchet, who had just come in at a back door; and 
when you have got the picture to this height of 
colouring, keep looking at it with all the chilly sen¬ 
sations which it inspires, till the recollection comes 
upon you, that, whatever the prospect, there is no 
eluding it; and I think you will have done enough 
for yourself in the way of terrors. There was no 
getting out of this business; so I judged it better to 
put a good face upon it, and, calling for a bottle of 
such wine as they had, and an omelet, we refreshed 
ourselves and retired to rest; but not before we had 
examined our separate cells, (without indeed appear- 




148 


* A TOUR 


ing to do so,) to see that there was no way of en¬ 
trance or exit, but by the door at which we were 
introduced: having settled matters on this point to 
our satisfaction, we separated. 

r , r • - ^ , ! . • j 

I must confess I did not like the appearance of 

things, but could hardly bring myself to believe in 

» 

the residence of banditti so near the public road, 
except in the pages of romance. Caution, however, 
is always the right side of doubt; so, without taking 
off more than my coat and boots, I threw myself in¬ 
to bed, and lay divided between sleep and the ad¬ 
venture ; but just as the former was getting a-head, 
and I had nearly forgotten where I was, I heard a v 

strange breathing noise, close to the head of my bed, 

^ * 

and began to fear I had not been sufficiently parti¬ 
cular in examining my room ; for no one could en¬ 
ter by the door, as I had taken care to double-lock 
and bolt it. I listened again, and heard the breathing 
distinctly; my heart began now to quicken its pace 
a little, and had got from the quiet gentle walk into 
a trot: I thought that before it got into a gallop, it 
would be better to be on my legs, and prepared for 
the worst; so jumping out of bed, (as much as to 
say, who’s afraid?) I rushed to the door, and unbolt- 









ON THE CONTINENT. 


149 


ing it, disturbed one of the many occupants of the 
kitchen, which was by this time converted into a ge¬ 
neral chamber:—“Est-ce que Monsieur manque 
le ?” was the first exclamation which greeted my ear, 
in a female voice, since our arrival. “Non,” replied I, 
“ je manque seulement la lumi^re”—With the great¬ 
est good-nature she brought me one, and showed her 
civility in so doing, at the expense of her modesty, 
for she had nothing on but her chemise; I wished 
her good night, and, having again secured my door, 
renewed my examination of the room. 

Darkness is a powerful ally to terrors; and 
it not unfrequently happens, that without its assist¬ 
ance, they are scarcely formidable enough to pro¬ 
duce more than a start on the nerves which they 
assail. The breathing which I had heard, I now 
began to think could have been nothing but the 
wind, and the rustling of the leaves in the great wood 
beside us,—so valiant does a lighted candle make us. 
I was almost resolute enough by this time to be 
ashamed of myself; and out of bravado, was actually 
going to extinguish the light, when my hand was 
arrested by the dreaded sound. I listened attentively, 


150 


A TOUR 


and traced it to the place I at first imagined it is¬ 
sued from. There was now no longer a doubt upon 
the point; so, pulling my bed away from the wall be¬ 
hind it, I discovered the real, the genuine night¬ 
mare ; no sickly offspring of the fancy, mounted by 
* « 

a sleep-oppressing daemon, but a good substantial 
horse, who, with a kindly snort, dismissed all my 
fears and anxiety : not even a window glass sepa¬ 
rated me from my welcome companion, and I was 
glad of it;—for there was more to allay my doubts in 
his physiognomy, than in that of any of his masters,— 
and, patting his neck through the hole in the wall, I 
wished him good night, and slept till six the next 
morning, without further fear or trembling. 

/ 

Had we given ourselves time to think, we should 

not have found it so difficult to account for the 

/ 

strange appearance of things, on our arrival at this 
place. The proximity of the wood might have ac¬ 
counted for the hatchet and belt, and the novelty of 
visitors in a carriage, for the silent reception and the 
respectful whispers, as well as for the arm that 
beckoned, in order, no doubt, to make silent en¬ 
quiry about the unlooked-for guests. The fact is. 




















ON THE CONTINENT. 


151 


the inhabitants of this lone residence were hewers of 
wood, and in all probability, (whatever their appear¬ 
ance,) full as honest as ourselves. 

We proceeded to Rouvray to breakfast, and en¬ 
deavoured to arrange so as to avoid, as much as pos¬ 
sible, the necessity of passing any more nights in 
such inconvenient abodes. The town of Pont Pagni 
is but a moderate day’s journey as to distance, and 
we decided on making that our next resting place, 
and promised ourselves to make up for the inter¬ 
rupted sleep of the night before; but distance is not 
the only difficulty that should present itself to a 
traveller’s mind, when he is arranging each day’s 
journey: on our arrival at Vitteaux, where we 
dined, we found it indispensably necessary to procure 
the aid of two additional horses, to draw us up the 

extensive mountain which commences the road out 

✓ 

of that town; and so much time was employed in 
this up-hill work, for the rest of the day, that with 
all our cocher’s efforts we could not get beyond the 
little miserable hamlet of Somberton, and were here 
reduced to put up with our former night’s fare, in 
every thing but the terrors of it; and, to add to our 
mortification, the following morning opened in tor- 


A TOUR 


152 

V 

rents of rain, which continued throughout the entire 
day, and drenched our poor cocher to the skin, who, 
while he was wringing the wet from his clothes, and 
lifting up his legs to pour it out of his boots, persist¬ 
ed in exclaiming, in answer to my pity—“ Toujours 
sec, toujours sec,”—and was perfectly contented 
with the state of things. 

On our arrival at a village within three leagues of 
the town, where we intended to pass the night, we 
were informed that it would be dangerous to pro¬ 
ceed any further, as a lion was in the great wood 
through which we must pass to Auxonne, and that 
the military had gone in pursuit. I conceived it a 
trick to keep us at the wretched inn which our in¬ 
formant occupied ; and proceeded, in spite of his in¬ 
treaties. I must confess that while in the wood, I 
began to conceive the possibility of wolves, or even 
more formidable wild beasts being in it, though 
a lion, except by the merest chance, was totally out 
of the Question ; however this might be, we passed 
the wood without a visit from any of its grim tenants, 
and arrived in good time for dinner at Auxonne : 
here we learned, that there was something in the 
story of the village innkeeper, though no lion had 




















ON THE CONTINENT. 


153 


been discovered, but a hyena, as was said, or more 
likely a wolf, had been killed by some soldiers; 
who, in consequence of two children having been 
destroyed close to that very wood, by some savage 
animals, had been sent in search of them. 

The rain, which had been pouring incessantly dur¬ 
ing this day’s journey, continued after our arrival at 
Auxonne, and consequently prevented our making 
any observations on the town. We were pent up at 
our hotel from the same cause, till twelve the fol¬ 
lowing day, when, notwithstanding its threatening 
appearance, we proceeded on our way to Salins. 

The day, however, soon afterwards cleared up, and 
the weather resumed its wonted heat and beauty. 
About half way between Auxonne and Salins we got 
into a grand and mountainous country, filled with 
woods and glens, very much resembling the scenery 
of the Dargle, and Poule a Phouka, in Ireland, ex¬ 
cept that the variety is greater here, and the whole 
on a hundredfold larger scale. The brows of the 
mountains whose summits are so grand, are covered 

with most extensive vineyards, where they face the 

• **■ , *• 

south, and on their northern sides with immense 


154 


A TOUR 


woods of fir. This sublime scenery continued before 
us during the remainder of the day, increasing in 
grandeur with every turn of the road, till we passed 
the strong fortress of St. Andre, and descended in¬ 
to the town of Salins. The fortress is situated on 
\ • 

the summit of the highest mountain but one in that 
chain ; it stood a siege of three months prior to Na¬ 
poleon’s first abdication, with a garrison of fifty-six 
men against twenty thousand Austrians, till, being 
exhausted of provisions, they capitulated with honors 
of war. 

% 

Having ordered dinner at our hotel, we pro¬ 
ceeded to visit the great salt-works from which the 
town takes its name. We descended a considerable 
depth by a corkscrew staircase, till we came to the 
two springs of salt water. They issue from small 
cavities in the solid rock, at a very short distance 
from each other, although of immense difference in 
their saline strength, the one being of twenty de¬ 
grees and the other of three only; and these are 
mixed in certain proportions prior to their being 
conveyed into the boilers where the process is carried 
on. Without the aid of machinery the salt springs 
would not be accessible, in consequence of the river 

















ON THE CONTINENT. 


155 


Furieuse taking its rise in this chain of mountains, 
and one of its sources rushing out of the very rock 
in question. The fresh water is pumped up by the 
operation of works, as at London bridge, and by 
that means conveyed into the Furieuse without 
touching the saline fluid. These works are a source 
of great profit to the revenue of France, and the salt 
is exceedingly white and of excellent flavour. It 
does not appear that it is used in Paris, nor in any 
of the towns in that part, though so much superior 
to what is consumed there. Switzerland is supplied 
from it; but that country is close at hand, and con- 

\ 

sequently requires but little land carriage, for that 
is the sole conveyance: perhaps, indeed, the expense 
of this may account for its absence from the capital, 
at least for general consumption. 

Having satisfied our curiosity at this place, we 
returned to our hotel, and set about gratifying our 
appetites too. For the sake of variety, and by the 
way of a treat after so many dinners of fricassee, 
fricandeau, &c. &c., we had ordered a small leg of 
mutton, which we found in the larder on our arri¬ 
val, to be roasted in the plain English fashion, 
which the cook told me he perfectly understood ; 


J 56 


A TOUR 


but a French cuisinier will never be brought so en¬ 
tirely to ruin a joint, (as he calls it,) as to let it be 

served up a l’Anglaise, though it may be roasted as 

« 

such ; and in spite of all my clear injunctions, up it 
came, drenched in piquant sauce; and all the fla¬ 
vour of the only leg of mutton I could ever get hold 
of, was sacrificed in a moment to the tyranny of in¬ 
exorable French taste. It was very good, however, 
though not the thing we wanted. 

Our hostess was very communicative, and em¬ 
ployed herself during our dinner in giving us a con¬ 
cise history of the war in that part of France, during 
the campaign which immediately preceded Napo¬ 
leon’s first abdication. Her husband and brother 
had both been killed during that contest, she told 
us, and whose fate she considered more fortunate 
than that of those who had survived his overthrow. 
I was astonished to find, throughout all that part of 
France which we visited, the open manner in which 
the natives in general regretted the changed state of 
things: the poor, they said, were always employed 
during the empire, and, in consequence, want pre¬ 
vailed only in the habitations of the idle j but now, 
they told us, every Commune was groaning under 























OK THE CONTINENT. 


157 


its ravages, and that it was no unfrequent circum¬ 
stance to see hundreds of young men reduced to 
skeletons, for want of sufficient food, traversing in 
a body, barefooted, through the country, soliciting 
employment or charity. Perhaps a great portion of 
this distress may be attributable to the unfavourable 
harvest of the preceding year, and if so, that part 
of the mischief will be removed by a more produc¬ 
tive season. But I have my fears, that although 
there may be something in this, the greatest evil to 
be dreaded is in the political feelings of the people, 
who are by no means thankful (whatever the opinion 
of the English may be of their ingratitude on that 
account,)—they are by no means thankful for the 
trouble we took to emancipate them from the ty¬ 
ranny of their late master, whose name they never 
hear mentioned without a sigh. Of course, I am now 
speaking of the middle and humbler classes of the 
people; those in higher life are more circumspect, 
and without delivering an opinion on the state of 
things, unless on terms of intimacy with you, 
never hear the present condition of France mention¬ 
ed without a shrug, and the expressive, though but 
half-muttered exclamation, of—La pauvre France ! 
Whether things will in time tranquillize themselves, 


MS 


A TOUR 


or not, to existing circumstances, I leave to the cal¬ 
culations of more political heads than mine; and 
carry you on, with me, from Salins, which we quit¬ 
ted the next morning, in order to proceed to 
Pontarlier. 

We had une fameuse montagne (as our cocher 
called it) to ascend on quitting the town, of more 
than six English miles in length, and so very steep, 
that we sent our horses forward, to walk at leisure up 
it; and putting four fresh ones to our carriage, we 
sallied forth in slow time, and enjoyed, at leisure, the 
extensive prospect which was continually improving 
with our increasing elevation. We were more than 
two hours before we reached the level at the top, 
when, resuming our own horses, we continued our 
route through a truly romantic and wild country, 
somewhat resembling, but not so beautiful and di¬ 
versified, the scenery of the preceding day. 

My pen begins to falter here, for want of inci¬ 
dent to interest you in the reading: but as the mind 
should not always be on the stretch, neither with 
entertainment nor business, I consider the absence 
of interest now and then as a welcome vacuity, or 






















ON THE CONTINENT. 


159 


sort of resting place, where you may throw your 
mind back, as you sometimes do your person on 
a chair, when you become tired of sitting in an 
erect posture. In one of these moods I fancy 
I see you now, contemplating in your mind’s 
eye the wild scenery which I would fain paint 
for you, but want the genius to describe. I 
cannot give novelty to my picture, though I see 
and enjoy it in this delightful country, with every 
turn of the eye. You must be contented, therefore, 
with what the enthusiasm of my feelings prompts 
me now and then to attempt—not from any vanity 
that I have in my own powers, but from a desire 
that you should partake, as much as I am able to 
let you, of the pleasure which I enjoy myself. 

We arrived at Pontarlier at five o’clock, and took 
a walk about the town. There are no public build- 

i 

ings or curiosities here worth the description, so 
that our ramble served merely to stretch our legs, 
and fill up the hour in which our dinner was pre¬ 
paring. Having enjoyed ourselves till late in talking 
over our adventures, and indulging myself in an 
additional pint of Burgundy, we retired to rest; and 
found the accommodation here make up for a good 




160 


A TOUR 


deal of the inconvenience we had experienced on 
the road, which, though it vexed at the time, fur¬ 
nished us now with subject for laughter. 

We started the next morning with minds alive 
to the anticipated beauties of Switzerland. There 
was now but the little town of Joigny which divi¬ 
ded us from that enchanting country; and away we 
drove in the height of health and spirits. We soon 
passed this frontier, which is situated on the summit 
of a mountain, where we alighted, and proceeded on 
foot into one of the beautiful valleys of the Jura, and 
rambled at leisure up the gradual ascents on the 
opposite side ; while our carriage had to traverse the 
advancing and retiring road of the mountain, and 
which appeared to us, from the elevation we had 
gained, as if involved in the intricacies of a maze. 

From the delay which this difficult and winding 
course necessarily occasioned, we were tempted to 
make the best use of our time, and I descended 
once more into the valley, in order to rid the car¬ 
riage of some of its burthen, and returned to my 
hungry companions with some bread and dried 
tongue, and a bottle of champaign, on which we 















ON THE CONTINENT. 161 

found ample time to regale ourselves before the 
arrival of our cocher. You remember the en¬ 
chanting glen of the Downs on La Touche’s estate 

✓ 

at Delgany —such is the beautiful scenery in the 
midst of which we had enjoyed our repast. The 
weather was inspiring, and the rain, which had fallen 
but a day or two before, had cooled the air, and 
given a delicious fragrance to the wild herbs which 
covered the uncultivated parts of the mountain ; and 
from the same cause the waterfalls, with which the 
place abounds, were in full play, and heightened 
the charms of the landscape. 

From the top of this eminence we advanced along 
a level road till we arrived at the station of la 
Gendarmerie deBallaigues, a frontier of Switzerland. 
Having refreshed our horses here, we proceeded 
through the place, which is so situated as to obstruct 
the prospect of the country beyond it; but as soon as 
the projecting part of the mountain which intercepts 
the view was passed, the grandest sight I ever 
beheld, burst suddenly upon us;—the chain of the 
Upper Alps, with not a cloud to obstruct the sum- 
mits, towered like the majesty of earth before us, 
covering a nation with their base, and bearing the 
Tour . . L 



162 


A TOUR 


heavens, as it were, upon their pinnacles ; inanimate 
nature sloping towards their feet, seemed prostrate 
before their awful dignity: the winds are their 
breathings, and thunder is their voice. As far as 
the eye can carry, runs the uninterrupted elysium 
of the valleys which encompass them, studded with 

wood, and covered with corn and pasture, which 
industry has taught to climb, even to the summits 

of the opposing mountains. I was particularly 
struck with the grandeur and vastness of the Great 
Saint Bernard, rendered so memorable by Napo- 
, leon s passage over it with the Republican army, 
preparatory to the great battle of Marengo. As 
there were no clouds hovering about it, we could 
distinctly see the snow through a hundred different 
openings near its summit. 

We contemplated this sublime prospect till our 
cocher, (who happened to have more taste for his 
dinner than for sublimity,) very prudently hinted, 
that unless we made a little more progress in our 
journey, we might be under the necessity of passing 
the night in the midst of this captivating scenery ; 
so down into the valley we drove, and found an¬ 
other mountain staring'.us full in the face: two 






















ON THE CONTINENT. 


163 


fresh horses were added to our own to draw us up 
it, and when after much whipping we reached the 
top, our splendid view returned upon us, and ac¬ 
companied us to the town of Lasarez : we arrived 
in good time, and were so pleased with the inn and 
prospect from it, that we determined, to the delight 
of our cocher, to remain there for the night. 

I could not help thinking, during my stay in this 
retired place, how much of the care and anxiety of 
the world might be avoided, could we bring our¬ 
selves to live without the vanities of it. There is 
no competition here for splendor,—no vying with 
each other for an empty superiority. The humble 
participation of the common benefits of nature is 
all the rustic ambition of the industrious Swiss; 
envy appears to be unknown amongst them, and 
national taste has bounded their hopes by the moun¬ 
tains which surround them. When we consider 
life in its application to the bulk of human society, 
this perhaps is the condition in which it best be¬ 
comes us; for the folly of splendid equipage, where 
there is nothing but its tinsel to distinguish us from 
the crowd, is as glaring as the gilded bauble which 


0 


164 A TOUR 

it displays; and it is as disgusting as it is absurd, 
when we reflect that the being who drives such equi¬ 
page, has, not unfrequently, (if superiority of mind be 
any thing,) a better title to command it. In commercial 
and speculating countries this must ever be the case, 
where fortune and distinction depend less on merit 
than on chance. I know a man who made a for¬ 
tune on the Stock Exchange in a month: he did 
this just before I set off* on my Tour; he had hardly 
talents to support himself by useful employment, 
yet he now commands an equipage, which it had 
better become him to have driven. It is by sud¬ 
den elevations like this, that the higher walks of 
life are disgraced, and the middle perhaps purified. 

; 1 . tiCI * i J& 44». 

Our hostess here was as communicative as that at 
Salins, and boasted of the campaigns in which her 
husband had served under Napoleon ; she, too, was 
tainted with the general enthusiasm, and could 
hardly be brought to believe that he was at St. 
Helena;—but when I told her that he was not only 
there, but that the English were determined on de¬ 
taining him a prisoner for life, she actually laughed 
in my face. These people have a strange notion of 


\ 



















ON THE CONTINENT. 165 

things:—do you know they really believe that 
something or other will happen, to get him away at 
last ? for they conceive that a fatality directs all his 

y 

operations:—one thing is certain, however doubt¬ 
ful this may be, that at least they wish it. 

„ y , i 

When I am cheerful, I am so pleased with the 
sensation, that it is with difficulty I can prevail upon 
myself to go to bed, however late the hour. I am 
always making the calculation of probabilities, and 
am so disposed to doubt whether sleep will continue 
my agreeable feelings, that on such occasions, 
when I do retire, it is always with the greatest re¬ 
luctance. Now it so happened at Lasarez, that the 
delight of the day’s journey, and the anticipation of 
increasing pleasure with every advancing step, made 
me so agreeable to myself, that what with this and 
the excellent wine, I would not stir an inch from 
table, (though eleven o’clock at night,) without an¬ 
other pint of Burgundy. And I am sure there is 
no harm in this, for I never feel so little disposed to 
mischief as when I am in good humour :—the line, 
however, must be drawn, or like Burns the Poet, I 
might drink to the end of the chapter;* for if the 

* Burns, the Scotch Bard, having injured his health by a 



166 


A TOUR 


goodness of wine were to be an excuse, I should 

i i 

never be without it in this country: but as the peace 
of to-morrow must depend on the prudence of to-* 
day, I drew the line in question at the bottom of 
this pint, and retired to a refreshing chamber, which 
had all the sweet breathings from the Alps over 
their fragrant valleys, to render it inviting. 

• * 

On the following morning we pursued our course, 
and entered Lausanne about noon. This town, 
which is situated on the summit of a hill, commands, 
from certain parts of it, a most extensive view along 
Lake Leman;—the beautiful, the enchanting Lake 
of Lausanne, as it is called in this part of the country. 
No longer satisfied with the prospect of it at this 
respectful distance, I accompanied my companions 
in a walk to the spot itself, where having traversed 
the shores till our legs, not our minds, were weary, 
we entered for rest and pastime into a sailing boat, 

too free use of the bottle, was told by his physician, that he 
could give him no hopes unless he adopted a more temperate 
course of life, for that the coat of his stomach was totally 
destroyed ; then, replied he. I’ll e’en drink to the end of the 
chapter, for it’s not worth while going about with the waist¬ 
coat only. 

























ON THE CONTINENT. 


167 


and the wind being favorable both for going out 
and coming in, we made a pleasant water party for 
nearly three hours, and returned to Le Lion d’Or to 
dinner, which we had not forgotten to order on our 
arrival. 

As I have already given you some idea of the scenery 
of this part of the country, I will not tire you with 
a repetition of it here, nor shall I have much to 
entertain you with in any other way. The incidents of 
retirement, (for such only can I call this place,) are 
rare indeed when compared with those which the 
bustle of such a city as Paris, is continually present¬ 
ing. The retreats, however, of this romantic country 
could furnish many, I have no doubt, and in¬ 
teresting too; but more time is required to become 
acquainted with them, than what can be spared out 
of my limited vacation. In Paris, they are waiting, 
as it were, to burst upon you the instant you 
appear, and arrest your progress at the corner of 
every street and avenue : here it is quite otherwise; 
you must dig the mine for its treasures,—there is 
nothing scattered upon the surface. The Swiss are 
not communicative; you must live amongst them, 
or you will come away ignorant of all but their sim¬ 
plicity :—they are silent among strangers, not in- 


16$ 


A TOUR 


deed from an over-caution like the Scotch, nor from 

r * • 

a coldness like the English, but from the humble 

■. « *■ • • 

opinion they have of themselves, a natural diffidence 
of temper, and a love of tranquillity. They are civil 

t / 

and unassuming, and though they do not anticipate 
your wants, yet they readily comply with your de¬ 
sires. Amongst themselves, however, and those 

* 

with whom they are intimate, they are cheerful with¬ 
out being gay, and polite without being frivolous. 
You will easily find in this description my excuse 
for not decorating this part of my narrative with 
any humorous anecdote. 

Lausanne, owing to its being built on a hill, is all 
either ascent or descent, and that so steep, that the 
town, particularly in the main street, where our 
Hotel is situated, is kept in constant thunder, morn¬ 
ing, noon, and night, from the carts and carriages 
which are continually tearing up, or rattling down ; 
and the ear is seldom relieved from the grating sound 
of stumbling horses and mules, who have a hard 
task to perform in this neighbourhood. The streets, 
like those of all the towns we have visited on the conti- 
nent, are very narrow when compared with their lofty 
houses, and from this cause, when the sun is at its 
height the place is like an oven, which, with the 


1 
























ON THE CONTINENT. 


169 


perpetual confusion, would render the town insup¬ 
portable to me as a constant residence: but the 
remedy against noise and heat is too near at hand 
to make this an evil worth grieving about, to one 
who has no occupation to chain him to the town; 
for the environs are full of shady and romantic re- 
treats, or just that extent of beauty that the fancy 
is permitted to reach, when it would paint to itself 
the untiring scenery of elysium, that country of 
perpetual spring. In a day or two we mean to 
pursue our journey to Geneva, at which place I shall 
resume my pen. 

The time is now fast approaching which is fo 
limit my progress in these delightful regions. While 
I am still writing, the Alps, the boundary of my 
course, are full before me, and continually remind¬ 
ing me that my long anticipated pleasure has been 
nearly all enjoyed, and is drawing fast to a close. 
While on the advance to pleasure the spirits are 
buoyant, and the expectation of novelty keeps tick¬ 
ling us as we go, we are in good humour with 
ourselves and every thing about us. If one object 
of our pursuit falls below our expectation, we over¬ 
look the disappointment, because we have yet so 




170 


A TOUR 


many in store:—no sooner have we exhausted an¬ 
ticipation, and indulged in every thing that we went 
in search of, but the ungrateful mind, ever dissatis¬ 
fied while there is a pleasure untasted, turns back 
with sluggish pace, and is scarcely thankful for 
what it has enjoyed. It is the misfortune of human 
nature, that our desires increase in proportion to the 
pleasures we have tasted. The poor have fewest 
wants, because they have been let no further into 
the secret of enjoyment, than the scanty gratification 
of hunger and thirst; their only wish is a more 
liberal portion of it, and as they seldom get that, 
they are not spoiled for the relish of what they have; 
but the rich, from their power to gratify themselves, 
soon exhaust the resources of pleasure, and having 
gorged to satiety at its most luscious banquets, go 
back with vitiated tastes to all its minor indulgences; 
till having nothing left to anticipate, they find out 
at last, that wealth can outlive even the relish for 
the blessings it dispenses. Under the influence of 
these gloomy feelings am I about to turn the helm, 
and steer my way back from all the delights which 
circumstances have allowed me to enjoy. 

) t 

I shall diversify my journey home by taking a 


















ON THE CONTINENT. 


171 


different route from that which brought me here; 
by this means a little relief will be thrown in my 
way to dissipate the vexation of a yet unsatisfied 
curiosity. Oh ! did but fortune favor my anxious 
wishes,—had she but dispensed her blessings with a 
less niggard hand, I should have yet to address you 
from the other side of the Alps and Appennines,— 
but it is otherwise—yet not without its benefit, since 
it will give me an earlier opportunity of paying my 
respects to you. 








. 





i 










172 


A TOUR 


LETTER VIII. 

* j) r m , 

Geneva . 

X think I told you in my last that we were on 
the point of leaving Lausanne; we continued there 
however a week longer in order to indulge in the 
beauties of this delightful country; and which in¬ 
deed might have demanded of us a much longer 
period, had we been as rich in leisure as we were in 
desire; but time, which stops for no one, has been 
running away at such a rate from us, that we have 
scarcely enough now left to see us fairly back again 
at the period we first decided on; but never let us 
be uneasy on this account, though our return may 
be delayed ; for if our dear friends but keep as well 
in our absence as we left them,—if we but find them 
so on our return, we shall have lost nothing by our 
dalliance here, since we have breathed a sweeter air,, 
have been smiled upon by a more inspiring sun, and 
in no way been losers, but by the absence of their 
dear society. Sweet is the blending of congenial 
minds! with this the rugged rock is smooth, and 
gentle is the freezing northern blast. Nothing can 
















ON THE CONTINENT. 


17.3 


be so lost to hope and comfort, but finds some 
resting place on Friendship’s breast. Strip but my 
native land of those I love, and the rough billows 
that divide us now, may roar for ever betwixt 
shore and shore, for aught I care at their forbidding 
aspect.—No ! I am wrong—our native home, even 
amidst barren and deserted mountains, still holds 
us to her (wander where we will,) by some resist¬ 
less spell, or magic thread, which she uncoils or 
gathers in at pleasure, but never quits till the grave 
snap the invisible link asunder. 

' . * ' ’ * 4 r m 

' ‘ 1 ' “ •- 

During the week which we passed at Lau¬ 
sanne since my last letter, we did little else than 
range from one romantic retreat to another, till (if 
it be possible to be so) we were wearied with the 
unceasing beauties around us : I must, however, re¬ 
serve my descriptions till we meet, for I cannot please 
myself with any of the attempts I have yet made 
to paint them. 

In one of my rambles among the mountains in 
the neighbourhood of this place, moralizing, in my 
usual way as I sauntered along, on the variety of 


j 



174 


A TOUR 


human pursuits, and wondering what it is that 
influences the mind of one man to love the 
peaceful vale of life, and of another to brave the 
storms and tempests of the mountain top of it, 
I had unwittingly lost my way, and could discover 
neither man nor habitation within the wild prospect 
of these lofty regions. I began to think myself in 
the situation of those men who have allowed them¬ 
selves to be carried by fortune to the dizzy height 
of life, with no other companion than the folly 
which had taught them to aspire to it. I had no 
business here without a guide, and after trying every 
winding way for more than an hour, I at last found 
myself only the deeper involved in a maze. I 
wished myself again in the humbler valleys I had 
left, and reproached myself with my foolish ambition. 
There was no course for me now to pursue, but a 
random one down again with slow and cautious 
step; and I immediately commenced my descent, 
lest, by the difficulties of the mountain, I might be 
delayed till night should throw her baneful influence 
into the scale against me. I was yet upon its craggy 
summit, sometimes enclosed within its barren cavi¬ 
ties that shut me out from all the verdure below— 
and sometimes peeping through the breaks and in- 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


175 



dentations, I could just distinguish the fir tree tops 
of the wood beneath me. I now heard the sound 
of the horn calling in the cattle, and directed my 
downward course as well as I could towards the 
place it came from, and with great difficulty at 
length reached the wood: the way began to smoothen 
itself here, and the country, a little below me, to wear 
the appearance of industry and cultivation ; I now • 
advanced with lighter spirits, and soon the cheering 
sound of human voices greeted my ear. I was 
drawn by the welcome attraction to a little cottage 
that had escaped my notice till my foot was at the 
open door of it, for it was at the side of the wood, 
and covered by it in every part except its entrance. 
My first question, of course, was my way to Lau¬ 
sanne, and to my mortification, I found that every 
footstep I had taken had carried me away from it, 
and there were more than eight German miles di¬ 
viding us ; the day was too far advanced, and I was 
too much fatigued with my late toil to venture back 
on foot that evening. 

I was alone in this adventure, for the companions 
of my tour had gone on a visit to some friends in 

the neighbourhood of Lausanne,'where they were 

. 

» 





176 


A TOUR 


to pass the night ; I had nothing therefore to be 
alarmed at on account of my absence, since they 
could know nothing of it till I should have an op¬ 
portunity of relating it to them in person. Thus cir¬ 
cumstanced, I had no difficulty in deciding my rest¬ 
ing place for that night, particularly since the master 
of the cottage had recommended me to pass it there. 

I have, thank Heaven! a happy way of soon fitting 
myself to a state of things which I cannot control, 
and as usual began to feel myself at home. My 
host would have reconciled me to a worse adven¬ 
ture than this, as he soon showed that he was not 
sorry at the new acquaintance; for I had not asked 
nor answered half a dozen questions before a flagon 
of wine presented itself, the flavor of which con¬ 
vinced me that he was not regardless of my opinion 
of the reception he gave me. While I was thus re- 

. to 

freshing myself, his two daughters presented them¬ 
selves ; they had just returned from their rustic oc¬ 
cupation, and having deposited the milk they had 
brought home in the dairy beside us, were joined 
by a third female who had just come in, and who 
retired with them to rest. And will they not 
join us, said I, and relax a little after the labours 
of the day? No, replied he, those who have 





ON THE CONTINENT. 


177 


toiled find most relaxation in rest, and my two 
daughters must be up by day-break, or the cows 
will go unmilked. Good Heaven ! thought I, and 
is it thus the task is set $ to labor till we have no 
relish for amusement, and then take rest, merely to 
fit us for the next day’s toil ? This seems unjust,— 
yet I have studied life in much of its variety, and 
always found it tranquil when ’twas thus:—while 
he who follows pleasure seeks new scenes, and looks 

with restlessness for fresh enjoyment; but novelty, 

/ 

which cannot travel with the speed of his desire, 
soon deserts him in the chase, and all his varie¬ 
gated prospect fades at once into a tasteless and 
insipid void. 

I have observed that there was a third female 
in the group, and though I had but a very imper¬ 
fect view of her, I saw enough to convince me that 
she had not been bred amongst them; she was 
visibly confused on seeing a stranger in this solitude, 
and retired abruptly, as if to avoid the eye of in- 
quiry; she had, however, roused my curiosity, and 
I could not refrain from observing to my host, that 
he had spoken only of two daughters, and I saw 
nothing in the appearance of the third to make him 
Tour. M 




178 A fOUR 

ashamed of acknowledging her. He told me that, 
like myself, she was a perfect stranger to him, and 
that her introduction there was as unexpected as my 
own: that about a year ago an English gentleman 
had brought her there in a faint and sickly state, 
and begged to place her under the care of his wife, 
(who was then living,) till she should recover herself 
a little, when, leaving her, in order as he said to 
procure medical assistance, he joined his servant, 
who was left in the valley below in the care of three 
,mules, and having sent him to the cottage with a 
portmanteau for the lady, rode away, and from that 
hour he had neither seen nor heard of him. The 
lady was English, he told me, and had amply re- 
munerated him for every expense and trouble on 

9* 

her account; she had never opened her lips to him 
on the cause of her coming there, nor had once 
expressed her astonishment at not having seen the 
gentleman since:—she was exceedingly affable, he 
said, and easily satisfied; she had lately adopted the 
dress of the peasants, by altering her own to their 
fashion, and seemed as if disposed to be a permanent 
resident amongst them. He told me that he had 
become too much interested in his unknown inmate, 
to regret the adventure on any other account than 


A 


\ 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


179 


her own; but viewing it in that light, he could not 
but feel the deepest sorrow. Yes,—thou art right, 
I fear, thou honest rustic ! Some unpropitious star 
has guided her by its fallacious light away from all 
the happier influence of life, though hardly in its 
bloom. What could have brought thee here, poor 
girl! to voluntary exile ? is it to wait till the rigor of 
authority be calmed,—till it cease to persecute with 
its wanton use of power, or interested hopes ? or 
hast thou bid adieu for evermore, to all thy earliest, 
thy congenial friends ? Whate’er it be, I cast no 
prying eye into the sacred depository of thy afflic¬ 
tions ; thou art here by thy own consent, and none 
can move thee hence who cannot lift the burthen 
off thy mind that keeps thee here. 

» ~T. 0 

Having compensated my host on the following 
morning for his treatment of me, I procured a 
guide and a couple of mules, and winding round 
this beautiful mountain till I could distinguish Lake 
Leman at a distance, I dismissed my attendant, and 
proceeded on foot to Lausanne. 

On the following day we left that town, and pass¬ 
ing along the banks of the lake thrpugh about eight 


180 


A TOUR 


leagues of garden ground, (for such only can I call 
this day’s journey,) we arrived at the Chateau of 
the Baroness de Stael Holstein. There we alighted 
for the purpose of viewing the residence of this cele¬ 
brated woman, or rather what had been the resi¬ 
dence, for she was now dead. Shortly after our leav¬ 
ing Paris she had reached that city, in a very sickly 
state, on her way to Coppet, where her Chateau is 
situated, it being her particular desire to yield her 
last breath where she had drawn her first: in this 
she was disappointed; the violence of her disorder 

defeated her object, but death protected her against 

' ' * 

the mortification of the failure. That part of her 
desire which it was in the power of earthly effort to 

comply with, was performed : her corpse was con- 

/ 

veyed to her Chateau, and deposited in the private 
vault, where rest the ashes of her father (the cele¬ 
brated Necker) and of her mother, both of whom 
she loved with the tenderest affection. Poor de 
Stael! Her free writings in the cause of liberty, to 
the disquietude of arbitrary governments, had made 
her offensive in the eyes of Napoleon; and in the 

latter period of life, banished from home, she be- 

/ 

came an alien to her own inheritance, seeking the 
liberty she loved far away from the land she vene- 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


181 


rated, and wandered about from place to place, 
where she was least likely to find it, till death called 
her off from the illusive beckonings of her phantom. 
Her political opinions might be wrong, but her 
motives were amiable: the overthrow of the fortunes 
of Napoleon would have restored her to the quiet 
occupation of her favorite residence, and nothing 
but length of life was now wanting to enable her to 
enjoy it; but this was denied her ; she met the fate 
too frequently attendant on heroic worth,—she 

N_ 

lived as long as she could suffer from oppression, 
and died as soon as she might be free. 

As to the situation of the mansion, from what I 
have already written on the general beauty of this 

i 

country, it must appear to you next to impossible 
to have placed it on an uninteresting spot: it is built 
on the brow of a hill, and commands the delightful 
prospect of the lake which runs at the foot of it, and 
of the towering Alps as far as Mont Blanc. The gar¬ 
dens are fallen into much disorder, and clearly show 
the long absence of their mistress. The Chateau 
is rather genteel than splendid; nothing to be com¬ 
pared with most of the mansions on the estates of 
our nobility; but if the scenery about it be taken 


/ 




182 


A TOUR 


into the scale, the Chateau of* Coppet will sufler 
nothing in a comparison with the best of them. 

We sat down to rest ourselves in the very room 
in which she wrote her DelpKine, a work in which, 
it is said, she pleased herself more than the moral 
commentators of the time. 

. ■ ... > • / 

' . 1 

A part of the building is appropriated to a pri¬ 
vate theatre, but which contains nothing worth 
making it a subject of description. In her cham¬ 
ber there is a portrait of her mother taken after 
death, at the foot of which she had written “Tu 
m’aimerai pour jamais this picture is covered with 
a curtain. I do not like these constant excitements 
to melancholy, which can produce no good, but 
only tend, through the habit of contemplating them, 
to chill the current of our happier feelings, and by 
reminding us too often of the nothingness of the 
world, teach us at length to consider cheerfulness a 

folly, and life itself a misfortune. The way to live 

* 

still with the parent or friend whom death has 
snatched from us, is to paint them before us as they 
were wont to be, with all that living amiableness 
which made us love them here \ not in that look 













ON THE CONTINENT. 


183 


which comes upon the face, when their last feeling 
for us has departed with the mind which once in¬ 
formed it. 

We pursued our journey to Geneva, and arrived 
in good time to dinner. Les Balances, which is the 

first hotel in the city, was too full to receive us, 

* 

there not being a bed to spare, so that we were 
obliged to put up with the second best, which is 
L’Ecu de Geneve; now though we were reduced 
one peg in point of our hotel, we were amply com¬ 
pensated in the superiority of the company at it; 
for two young German barons, who left Lausanne 

t ' 

about the time that we did, were, like us, driven 
from Les Balances, and honored L’Ecu de Geneve 
with their august presence; and as they were placed 
in the room next to our’s, we were regaled with the 
unceasing effluvia from their well-smoked pipes. 
Would you believe it ? we think nothing of tobacco 
now, and notwithstanding our extreme aversion to 
it before we left England, I am sometimes at a 
doubt whether we shall not soon fall into the actual 
use of it ourselves; for though it has nothing on the 
score of flavor to recommend itself to our taste, 
yet it has high fashion to say something in its favor. 







184 


A TOtJR 


and more ridiculous habits than smoking have been 

4 

established under that powerful influence. It is cu¬ 
rious enough to see persons of the first distinction 
puffing out volumes of smoke from each window of 
a carriage and four, and spitting out of them with 
all the grace which adorns the benches of a London 
tea garden ; but custom is every thing, and each 
country has some national peculiarity, and some¬ 
times worse than this. In Ethiopia, the women rub 
' themselves with train oil and soot, and Prior, in al¬ 
luding to this in his Alma Mater, says 

“ Before you see, you smell your Toast, 

And sweetest she who stinks the most/’ 

» 

We dined at our hotel in a sumptuous manner; I 
would not afford our hostess an opportunity of cal¬ 
culating much on the wide difference between an 
untitled Englishman, and our haughty German 
barons, so giving myself as many airs as they did, I 
ordered as good a dinner, and if I did not pass for 
as high a personage, I contrived at least to make 
myself as comfortable. 

t • 

‘ * * * - • • 1 • Ui * W *. .4 4 . . ) .»J \ . f 

Now you who are a regular liver, who go to bed 
betimes, and that too with the advantages which pro- 






ON THE CONTINENT. 


185 


per exercise, aided by temperance, can bestow, enjoy 
the first meal of the day with all the appetite of a 
healthy stomach; to you, a breakfast is no unim¬ 
portant matter, and as every thing goes by compa¬ 
rison, you have hitherto relished what you have had 
in these meals, because you have been ignorant of 
the extent of luxury to which such a repast may be 
carried. I do not actually call upon you to set off 
on a tour to Geneva for the purpose of enjoying 
this, for I know your great aversion to crossing the 
sea ; but if you were at Paris instead of London, I 
would certainly write to you recommending your 
immediate departure for this place, though I might 
have no other motive for doing so than the break¬ 
fasts of it. For myself, I really think I never tasted 
milk, cream, or butter, till I came here ; and to 
heighten the luxury of this, the bread they serve 
you with (the manufacture of which is peculiar to 
themselves) is the most delicious I ever tasted : now 
if I, who enjoy every meal with some degree of 
gout, can think so highly of a mere breakfast, what 

* ti ' ' ‘ t 

would you think of it, who consider every other re¬ 
past so trifling in comparison? Notwithstanding’ 
this dissertation on eating, I am nevertheless no*' 
gourmand, but as I have taken upon myself to give 






r 


386 A TOUR 

i 

you some account of my tour, and have not left out 
of it the unsavory fare which I have encountered, 
it is but right that I should give you a flavor of our 
more delicious entertainments; and this I do, not 
more from the pleasure I experience in partaking of 
them, than from the justice that I owe the country 
which affords them. So far in favor of Geneva I 
may go, but no further; of course I leave out in 
this restriction the manners and dispositions of its 
inhabitants, for I cannot be expected to have yet 

penetrated much into these particulars, and allude 
merely to local inconveniences, and the ill con¬ 
struction of the town. The prospect of the city, 
from an eminence about two miles before you enter 
it by the Lausanne road, is grand and imposing; it 
impresses you with an idea of splendid edifices con¬ 
structed with every regard to order and regularity; 
you might almost imagine the description of Homer 
realised here, where speaking of Hector seeking 
Andromache he says,—he passed 

“ Through streets of palaces and walks of state 

but, alas! on entering it, the illusion is at an end, and 

the beauty that allured us in the distance, now be- 

/ 

gins to unfold her wrinkles and deformity. 

V 

# / 

/ 


/ 


i 


ON THE CONTINENT. 187 

% 

The houses are lofty, and along the main street or 
market-place, which runs for a great extent through 
the town, are immense, awkward and unsightly 
arched-ways, constructed of wood, supported by ill- 
proportioned columns of the same material, and en¬ 
closing even the garret windows of the houses from 
whence they project within their gloomy and unpaint¬ 
ed concave ; this gives an extremely sombre appear¬ 
ance to the place, and prepares the newly-arrived visi¬ 
tor to be patient under the other imperfections of it: 
excepting the great streets which cross each other, 
and are at considerable distances apart, there are no 
communications from one point of the town to ano¬ 
ther, but by twilight passages which run under the 
houses, and through which you must pass when¬ 
ever disposed to shorten your way to the place of 
destination; these frequently run for a very con¬ 
siderable depth, and into which no other light 
insinuates itself, than what can find admission at the 
exits and entrances, and through the deep and nar¬ 
row interstices, which divide some of the houses, in 
these almost solid clumps, from the roofs to these 
caverns at their foundation. 

In a town of this construction' you will have no 


% 










188 


A TOUR 


great difficulty in conceiving its nuisances; and as if 
the saying should for ever be verified that the two 
extremes are nearest united, this gloomy, awkward, 
and disgusting city lifts its ugly head in the midst of 
all the richest blooming of romantic nature ; and the 
sweet lake Leman, which rolls its light green waves 
through twenty leagues of ever varying beauties, is 
stript of all its charms on entering here, and sinks 
at once into a mere local convenience: no decisive 
bounds seem placed against its encroachment, and 
in certain parts of the town, foot passengers are 
obliged to pass over planks of wood from one side of 
a street to the othjer to avoid its overflow; ashamed 
at the loss of all its loveliness, it rushes by in an im- 
petuous course, and soon hides its degraded current 
in the bosom of the rapid Rhone. 

In a day or two we shall set off for Mont Blanc, 
and from thence commence our retrograde motion 
home again. We propose passing some time at 
- with a French family of our acquaint¬ 
ance, ^nd at which place I shall resume my subject. 



4 


4 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


189 


LETTER IX. 

St. Dizier. 

) 

It is more than a month since my last letter, 
yet till now I have scarcely found an hour’s 
leisure to devote to you; to resume however, after 
passing a week at Geneva, we set out for the pur¬ 
pose of visiting the Glaciers, and were far advanced 
on our way to them when the indisposition of one of 
our party forbad our further progress ; the cojd re¬ 
gions of these extraordinary phenomena would have 
rendered our advance under this circumstance ex¬ 
tremely imprudent, and, with all my eagerness and 
long anticipation, I yielded of course to the dictates 
of prudence, and returned to Geneva, leaving indeed 
my curiosity ungratified, but quite alive to the 
hope of some other and not distant opportunity 
of rewarding its patience. We had nothing 
now to delay our return to England, and bidding 
adieu to the south, we commenced our retrograde 
motion on the following day, and slept at Lausanne; 
as we proceeded by the same route as far as Pontar- 
lier, I shall take up my subject from that place. 




190 


A TOUR 


whence we set off for Besan^n, a handsome forti- 

• * I 

fied town delightfully situated on the river Doubs, 
between which and the walls is an exceedingly plea¬ 
sant promenade. We put up at the Hotel National, 
and then took a walk while dinner was preparing, in 
order to view the citadel, but were refused admis¬ 
sion in consequence of two of Napoleon’s Generals 
being confined there. We then pursued our course 
to Gray, where we arrived just as the funeral of 
General Drouet was passing: he had been one of 
Napoleon’s officers, and not in favor with the new 

i 

government; he was buried without even military 
honors. Langres was the extent of our next day’s 
journey, from whence on the following morning we 
set off for Chaumont, which we reached to an early 
dinner; it was Sunday, and this in France is sure to 

bring forth the gayest attire of every rank and con- 

* , - » .# 

dition: the three daughters of our host were not un¬ 
mindful of themselves on this score, and waited up- 

• l * t ' s > ' ‘ 

on us, alternately, at dinner in dresses that would not 
have disgraced a carriage, and with an air of vivacity 
that would have sweetened the vinegar aspect of a 
cynic; they were pretty girls to boot, and knew 
well how to set off beauty to the best advantage. 
I began now to think that our horses were a little 






ON THE CONTINENT. 


191 


overworked, and that it was high time they should 
have an intervening day of rest. Indeed the town 
of Chaumont is open and lively, with charming 
walks in its neighbourhood, and so we conceived we 
could not stop in a more eligible place both for 
amusing ourselves and recruiting them. An inn¬ 
keeper’s daughter is no very fashionable motive for 
delaying a journey, however handsome she may be, 
and I have therefore too much vanity to suppose 
you will impute my loitering in this town to any such 
inadmissible cause : there is an influence, however, 
in every thing beautiful, whatever the source from 
whence it may spring, that will in some degree 
baffle even the stoutest advocates for decorum, and 
though I was not detained a moment longer in this 
place by the attraction of beauty, yet as other 
causes compelled me to stop, I neither saw then, nor 
do I yet see, that there was any crime in devoting a 
portion of the time to a little admiration of it. I can 
hardly tell why I should enter into any explanation 
on this head, and the fastidious may think perhaps 
that I might as well have said nothing about it, but 
what matters how the fastidious think ? I shall take 
no piore trouble than I have done to justify myself, 
think what they may. 






192 


A TOUR 


The Princess of Wales passed through this town 
on her leaving England after the settlement of her 
annuity, on which occasion she stopped at this hotel, 
and owing to the illness of one of her ladies, she re¬ 
mained a day or two in the place; if this incident 
had related to any humbler individual I should 
hardly find an excuse for obtruding it upon you ; 
but as any trifle that relates to persons of such high 
distinction is always worthy of a page in history, 
who can tell but some future author in compiling 
the annals of our country, may be indebted to these 
memoirs for this most important piece of intel¬ 
ligence ? 

Having passed our additional day with all the 
pleasure which the walks about Chaumont could af¬ 
ford us, we resumed our journey on the succeeding 
morning, and proceeded towards-, the resi¬ 

dence of our friends, with whom I told you in my 
last we intended to pass some time ; their chateau 
is situated about eight leagues out of our route to 
Calais, and I think I must say through rather an 
intricate cross road, since our cocher contrived to 
miss his way, which obliged us to pass the night in a 
little miserable hamlet, something like that of 





ON THE CONTINENT. 


193 


We arrived however early the next day, and were 
received with that spirit of English welcome, 
which our friends had acquired in^ their residence 
amongst us, prior to the peace of Amiens. I 
should have told you that our intimacy with them 
commenced during that period, and though sus¬ 
pended by their taking the opportunity of that 
treaty to return home, yet our regard for each 
other had been too deeply impressed, by mutual 
kindnesses, to suffer much by our long separation. 
A few days after our arrival, we accompanied 
them in a visit to the Convent in their neighbour¬ 
hood, where we were introduced to one of the 
nuns, who in her happier days had been their fre¬ 
quent companion. They promised to relate her story 
to us on our return, or rather the latter period of it, 
which was all they knew, the misfortunes of which 
had induced her to take the veil; an unexpected 
circumstance however rendered that unnecessary. 

We now entered the walls of this dreary abode, 
consecrated to Heaven by the self-devoted, who 
within the narrow boundary of their lattice and ri¬ 
gour of discipline, can make themselves a world 
greater and happier than the one they have re- 
Tour . N 



194 


A TOUR 


nounced. When we arrived at the grating through 
which all communication with the Nuns is held, 
notice was given to one of the lay sisters, and we 
seated ourselves to await the arrival of the person in 
question. She soon appeared, and received us with 
a gracefulness and ease, which shewed that her resi¬ 
dence there had not been long enough to eradicate 
her worldly deportment; her features and person 
retained the vestige only of beauty, and her counte¬ 
nance had a rooted melancholy in it, which im¬ 
pressed me with the conviction that a hopelessness 
in every blessing here had brought her to this 
place, to bow in solitude and resignation to the will 
of Heaven, and seek her consolation in the promise 
of hereafter. She spoke much to the lady who in¬ 
troduced us respecting the charity which had been 
set on foot for the support of the poor of that com¬ 
mune, who are suffering the greatest severity from 

♦ 

want of employment, and the failure of harvest of 
the preceding year. 

There was a sound in her voice which called to my 
mind some distant, some imperfect recollections,— 
a something that seemed as if it had once been fa¬ 
miliar to it, and suddenly brought back the days of 
my boyhood, as fresh as if I had been still advancing 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


195 


in them ; I looked again at her face but could trace 
nothing there to explain the illusion. The effect on 
me was like that of a dream, in which the incidents 
of our early life are, by some strange commixture, 
jumbled together with recent events, and in which 
we live at once in the time that is gone by, and in 
that which is before ms. What can it be, thought I, 
that gives to this stranger so peculiar an influence on 
me ? Is it that her voice resembles that of some long 
past acquaintance now out of recollection, and 
whose tones, though not name, are recalled by the 
sound ? Whatever it be, the shortest way to solve 
the doubt must be through her; so rejecting further 
speculation on the matter :—There is something in 
that voice, said I, which tells me that this is not our 
first meeting, and though on looking at you I can 
trace no vestige of former acquaintanceship, yet 
when I hear you speak, I feel it quite impossible that 
I can be mistaken. Confused at the unexpected 
challenge, she was for a moment unable to reply, and 
I began to regret that I had troubled her with my 
conjectures; for what I know of it, thought I, this 
sensitive nature of mine may, with all its harmless 
intention, have disturbed a world of troubles which 
religion and the calm of seclusion had perhaps al- 




i 





196 


A TOUR 


lowed to subside. The afflictions of life most tor¬ 
ture at their onset, and when, by repeated efforts to 

* * 

subdue them, they have been lulled to rest, may 
Heaven watch over the repose they lie in, and keep 
the meddling fool away, lest he awake the sleep¬ 
ing venom to a new birth and a more poignant 
sting! 

On your introduction to me, said she, I was not 
impressed with the slightest remembrance that I 
had ever seen you before, but when you mentioned 
the recollection of my voice, by which you would 
imply a former acquaintance, your features immedi¬ 
ately recurred to my memory, and I recognise in 
them, if I mistake not, the friend of my earliest years. 
I should still have been at a loss had not her last 
remark, coupled with my recollection of a young girl, 
who had been under my father’s care, quitting Eng¬ 
land about twenty years before to join a relation in 
France, told me that this recluse could be no other 
than Miss de F—; for of form and feature nothing 
now was left to call forth my remembrance of her. 
A long line of afflictions had held dominion there, 
and laid in ruins the once fair fabric that began to 
crumble before it was complete. 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


197 


She quitted England in her eleventh year to join 

her aunt who resided at R-, and from that time 

to the interview in question I had neither seen nor 
heard of her. Her silence had never been imputed by 
me to a want of affection, for her nature was amiable, 
and could never be indifferent to the kindness of 
her friends; my father had attributed it to the trou¬ 
bles that then prevailed in France, which rendered 

0 

all intercourse between the countries extremely pre¬ 
carious ; he was sometimes however undecided on 
this point, since in the course of years he thought 
it scarcely possible but intelligence by some means or 
other must have reached him, had there been a dis¬ 
position to forward any. This unwelcome con¬ 
jecture would often mortify him with doubts upon 
her gratitude, till it at length gave way to the fullest 
belief that the havock of her country had first ruined 
the fortunes of her aunt, and then by a broken heart 
deprived his young charge of her sole protection: 
thus perhaps bereft of her only guide and monitor, 
he trembled for her youth and opening beauty, 
which he feared might fall an easy prey to the li¬ 
centious habits of a demoralized country. He lost no 
opportunity that offered the slightest chance of in¬ 
telligence, to learn if possible some tidings of her. 





198 


A TOUR 


V 

but was only able to verify his first fears with regard 
to the aunt. Ten years after the departure of his 
charge, he learnt for the first time that this lady 
had been dead nearly three years, and that her 
entire property, which was considerable, had fallen 
into the hands of an artful man who she had married 
during her niece’s residence with her. This was the 
whole of the intelligence which he ever obtained •> 
every trace of the young girl in question was lost to 
him, and he soon after died without the least solace 
for his affliction on her account. 

In ten years after his death, when every hope re¬ 
specting her had ceased, and the grave in my imagi¬ 
nation long closed upon her—when every means of 
enquiry had been exhausted and the search given 
up—the merest chance of an unexpected visit to a 
convent brought the long lost object before me. Oh 
ye that are borne down by cares and seeking rest in 
vain ! ye that have tasted, and are tasting still the 
bitterest cup of blighted hopes! ye that have failed 
in all your efforts here, without one prospect of a 
brighter fortune! look towards the tide of seeming 
chance, and be no more dismayed; down that per¬ 
haps your better genius may be floating now, unseen 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


199 


through the thick fog of present misery, and may 
arrive as suddenly as the sad subject of my present 
story. 

She was not surprised at my inability to trace the 
slightest resemblance in her to the young creature 
who twenty years before had been my play-fellow; 
her life since that period had been, with but little in¬ 
terruption, a scene of sorrow;—and unremitting care 
in the end, said she, will always mould the form and 
features to its own impression. To give you the his¬ 
tory of my life would only be to load you with a 
weight of anxiety on my account; and pity, while it 
would pain you in the giving, could in no way soften 
the anguish of my recollections :—all that remains 
of me is devoted, and that which has gone by can 
return to plague me no more; it lives in the re¬ 
membrance indeed, but it rests quiet there while 
undisturbed, because I fear not the reproach of 
conscience, and have yet to learn for what it has been 
inflicted ; but as you must feel an interest in me 
from our early acquaintance, and, from circum¬ 
stances, have a right to know by what strange for¬ 
tune all trace of me has been lost since I left your 
father’s hospitable roof, I will not hesitate a moment 




200 


A TOUR 


to communicate those circumstances which must 
unravel the mystery, and acquit me of the ingrati¬ 
tude, which, to all appearance, I am involved in. In 
a few days I shall enclose you a brief account of 
my sad story, and leave my misfortunes to account 
for seeming ingratitude. Her stifled tears could 
now no longer retain themselves, and she abruptly 
left us uttering some inarticulate sentence, perhaps 
of farewell; I never saw her after, but a few days 
before we left our friends for St Dizier, I received 
the promised narrative, which accompanies this 
letter. 

• • ^ • 

Yes! what remains of thee is indeed devoted— 
the fair anticipations of thy youth have deceived 
thee, and all thy airy castles are dispersed ;—mine 
too are vanished, but I can raise up new ones still, 
to be again deceived by ; they help to wear us out 
betwixt hope and disappointment, which keep each 
other nearly on a poise with smiles and tears ;—but 
thy remaining life is one dark course without vicis¬ 
situde y —a polar night—from which thou never 
wilt emerge to earthly morning. 


' ON THE CONTINENT. 


201 


THE STORY. 


I arrived at R-before I had completed 

my eleventh year, and .found in my father’s sister a 
sincere and amiable protector. Her first object was 
to proceed in my education, which had been already 
so well begun, and neither care nor expense were 
spared to render me as accomplished, as the sphere 
of life in which she meant me to move could re¬ 
quire. Her fortune was large, and she had then no 
other dependant on it than myself; so far my pros¬ 
pects were favorable, and rendered doubly so from 
the ruined circumstances in which my father died. 
Under these happy auspices I advanced in my acquire¬ 
ments to the full satisfaction of my aunt. By the time 
I had arrived at the height of her expectation in this 
respect, and had attained my seventeenth year, a 
circumstance occurred that suddenly clouded all my 
blooming prospect. 

* 

A young officer of our garrison who had long in 
vain importuned my aunt to marry him, was now 



i 




202 


A TOUR 


about to be removed to another fortress, and press¬ 
ed his suit, on the eve of his departure, with so 
much eloquence, that she yielded to his entreaty, and 
-in a few days became his wife. It was my misfor¬ 
tune, I say, because circumstances afterwards con¬ 
spired to make it so. I do not presume to arraign 
my aunt on that account, for I had no right to ex¬ 
pect that she should forego her own well-being, and 
make a sacrifice of herself to my advancement. She 
loved me still as ardently as ever, and marriage, in 
itself, was neither fault nor folly in her, for she 
was young and handsome, and every way suited to 
render such a condition of life happy and dignified: 
but it was her misfortune as well as mine, as the se¬ 
quel will prove; for notwithstanding his nominally 
high character and apparent worth, he was at heart 
the basest of mankind. It is not necessary to my 
own story, to detail the villainy of his, and it will 
suffice to say that he lives still; but my poor aunt 
and benefactress lives no longer; one year of cruelty 
drew the line to her afflictions, and thirteen years 
of remorse, if he be capable of any, have avenged 
the sufferings of my departed friend, who found in 
• him that family, manners, and address, are but a 

JV 

sorry apology for the absence of worth. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


203 


Her property, from the want of sufficient caution, 
became exclusively his own, and her bitterest agony 
in her last moments was the reflection that by this 
xash act (as she would call it) she had blasted all 
my fair-formed hopes in life. On my account she 
even stooped to write to him for a settlement on me; 
but although it was a death-bed petition, and only for 
a part of her own, yet she died without the conso¬ 
lation of an answer. I never insulted her memory 
by soliciting his compliance with the request. 

My aunt was more induced to this match from 
commiseration than love, and fell a victim to that 
tenderness of nature, that could not allow the suf¬ 
fering, of which she was the innocent cause, to 
plead in vain for the remedy which she had it in 
her power to bestow. She soon found out how fal¬ 
lacious a guide we trust to, when dismissing the ad¬ 
monitions of prudence, we are contented to listen 
to the dictates of feeling alone. Scarcely was the 
marriage ceremony completed, but the veil of hy¬ 
pocrisy, which had covered him, was removed, and 
the monster appeared before her in all his native 
deformity. He was now master of her fortune, and 
had no longer a motive to mortify himself by the 





204 


A TOUR 


affectation of honor or virtue \ he had been under 
sufficient restraint in this respect while he was ac¬ 
complishing his purpose, and he now felt master of 
himself in the resumption of his unrestrained, his 
unfettered licentiousness. Through his interest he 
procured the order for his removal to be rescinded, 

and he continued at R-. He began his 

cruelty by introducing his mistress into the house of 
his wife, which he made the scene of his debauch¬ 
eries and gambling. An appeal to the laws might 
indeed have done her justice; but her peace of mind 
had been already destroyed, and she had neither 
spirits nor inclination to apply such a remedy, since, 
at best, it could only enable her to avoid the violence 
of his temper, not heal the burning canker which 
was eating on her heart. She was not anxious for 
a protracted existence, and never rallied from the 
first wound which her feelings had received. The 
condition in which her marriage had placed me, was 
the aggravation of her-sufferings, and she never 
ceased to reproach herself on that account, till 
the grave had closed upon her unavailing sor¬ 
rows. 


I hasten from the dreary picture I have drawn, 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


2 05 


not to avoid the anguish it occasions, for I am used 
to that, and rather prone to brood over affliction 
than to evade it:—but I must enter now on a fresh 
scene, that will in no way dispel the gloom which 
my Narrative, even now, must have inspired. I was 
left without a friend in France, and destitute of every 
means of support but a small sum of money, which 
my poor aunt had been able to save from the ra¬ 
pacious grasp of the fell monster I have painted. 
What was I to do ? Acquaintances indeed I had, 
and friends too, as in our better days they had pro¬ 
fessed themselves; but the friends that spring out of 
prosperity, seldom flourish in a poorer soil;—they 
soon dwindled and died away. I will not disgust 
you by a detail of the different advice they gave me 
as to what steps I should pursue; they were guided 
by one motive only, that of waiving every hope 
(could I have formed any) of protection from 
them \ this gave me but little pain, for I had drawn 
no auspicious estimate of my prospect there. Their 
former professed friendship soon sunk into mere 
acquaintanceship, and then my afflictions so altered 
me, I must suppose, that in a short time afterwards 
they had no remembrance of me. I could not bear 
to be the outcast which my misfortunes had made 




206 A TOUR 

me, and I judged it best to quit a town that fur- 

i 

nished such constant incitements to my disgust; but 

•9 * 

where to go, and how employ myself, left me long 
undecided in my resolution. At length I deter¬ 
mined to write to my former protector, and commit¬ 
ted my letter to your father to the care of an English 
officer who had been a prisoner of war, and who by 
the influence of his friends had been able to procure 
his exchange. I had often, indeed, written to him 
before in my prosperity, without ever hearing in re¬ 
turn ; but this I imputed to the probability that my 
letters had never reached him ; my not receiving an 
answer, however, to my last, which communicated 
my misfortunes, was too much for me, and my 
troubles, which perhaps blinded my judgment, led 
me to fear that I had become an outcast from him 
as from every other quarter. I should, however, 
have known him better than to suspect him, for he 
had been a friend long before he knew I should 
have found one in my relation, and I reproach my¬ 
self, that for a moment I could have doubted him;— 
but misery warps the understanding, and when we 
are lost to ourselves, we are easily brought to be¬ 
lieve that we are abandoned by all besides. In the 
fullness of my unhappy condition, I thought myself 





ON THE CONTINENT. 


207 


deserted by him then, and could not bring myself 
to write again to him. 

I determined, as I said before, on leaving R-, 

with the view of procuring employment by teach¬ 
ing, for my education had rendered me capable of 
that. Thus in my nineteenth year, had my capricious 
destiny launched me into the wide sea of life with¬ 
out helm or compass, and unprovided against the 
tempest that threatened me, to be the sport of the 
varying winds, and to fall a prey at last to one or 
other of the rocks or quicksands that encompassed 
me: but we are not masters of our fortune, and 
must bow with resignation to that condition, what¬ 
ever it may be, which we cannot control. I put 
up prayers to Heaven in this critical juncture, that 
I might not be deserted by that Being who is the 
friend to the desolate, and who hears, before the 
Hymns and Songs of Praise, the cries of the 
miserable and broken hearted. I now bade adieu 
for ever to this place of affliction, hardly knowing 
whither I went, and without recommendation or in¬ 
troduction. At length it occurred to me, that a lady, 
with whom my aunt had been intimate some years 




208 


A TOUR 


before, was mistress of a seminary near Nantes, and 
to this place I directed my course. It was a long 
journey from my late residence, but it was my only 
prospect, and I judged it more likely to avail me if 
I should, in person, inform her of my wretched con¬ 
dition, than if I communicated my story by letter; 
it might, indeed, have been more prudent had I 
adopted the latter course; but as under no circum¬ 
stance would I remain at R-, I was glad to 

avail myself of any excuse for quitting it. 

On my arrival at Nantes, I found that the school 
in question existed no longer, and I could learn no 
tidings of the lady who had been mistress of it. 
This was a bitter disappointment to me, for on her 
heart and disposition, which I well remembered, I 
had grounded the strongest hopes of success. My 
spirits now misgave me, and I began to think my¬ 
self devoted to misery; my condition was truly 
wretched, I had neither friend nor adviser, I was 
in the centre of strangers, and my money rapidly 
decreasing. To take lodgings in the town might 
have injured my character, and the time was fast 
approaching when I should have no other depen- 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


209 


dence; I therefore procured an apartment at a farm¬ 
house, about a league out of it, and engaged with 
the mistress to board with her. 

It was my intention here, if I failed in my en¬ 
deavours to procure employment in a school, to sup¬ 
port myself, if possible, by making lace; which had 
often employed my leisure hours in my more pros¬ 
perous fortune. My spirits began to rally under 
this resolution, for my good hostess gave me hopes 
of an easy sale for it. I soon procured all the ne¬ 
cessary apparatus for this undertaking, and began 
my work at once, that I might encroach as little as 
possible on what remained of my property. I felt 
contented should this mode of life succeed—not that 
I was happy in it, for the society about me had 
nothing congenial to my taste or education; but 
under all the circumstances of my desolate condition, 
there was something to be thankful for, in being 
able to feel resigned. Perhaps Heaven, said I, 
when it means to lower the fortunes of its crea¬ 
tures, sinks them first considerably beneath the 
condition it ultimately assigns them, that how¬ 
ever reduced from their former happy state, they 
may feel, at least, the consolation of diminishing in 

Tour. • Q 




210 


A TOUR 


misery before they settle in it, and by that means 
be enabled to bear it better. Such was the light in 
which I then viewed my depression, and contrasted 
with what I had suffered, I was at least comparatively 
happy: circumstances, however, have since proved 
that this was not the limit of my affliction. 

In the course of some months I found the result 
of my industry more than enough for the amount 
of my expenses, and this stimulated my mind 
to further exertions. My good fortune, alas! was 
not doomed to remain long uninterrupted; my 
close application acting upon a constitution not na¬ 
turally strong, and which had been much impaired 
by the misfortunes I have mentioned, had so re¬ 
duced me, that I sunk at last under the accumulated 
weight. I was seized with an inflammatory fever, 
which deprived me of reason, and for a long time 
my condition remained doubtful: my cruel destiny, 
however, was not yet satisfied, and I was restored 
at length to sense and misery. My resources were 
now all exhausted, and I was too weak to have re¬ 
course to my usual industry. Oh ! what a weight 
of care would Heaven have spared me, said I, and 
what a blessing would its late visitation have been, 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


211 


had it but proved as unyielding as my sorrows, and 
closed the scene upon an unhappy creature, who 
seems to live for no other end than to be wretched. 
Forgive me, Heaven! if in the bitterness of my 
heart I have been tempted to arraign thy wise de¬ 
crees, and for a moment forgot, that it is not here 
/ 

we are to look to unravel the mystery of thy 
justice ! 

My good hostess was aware of the poverty to 
which my illness had reduced me, and took every 
pains to console me on that account; to the utmost 
of her power, she said, I should never be deserted, 
and cheered me to hope for better times. I lamented 
now, more than ever, my inability to discover my late 

aunt’s friend, in search of whom I had come here, 

J \ 

and for the first time since my arrival at the farm 
house, I now mentioned the circumstance to this 
good woman. She told me she knew her well; that 
about two years before she had given up the school 
owing to her ill health, and that she had gone to 
reside at a convent, not many leagues from thence, 
where she employed herself, as far as she was able, 
in instructing the daughters of reduced families, for 
whom there was a seminary there. I set off im- 



212 


A TOUR 


mediately to the place in hopes of procuring some 
similar employment, 

& 

The good lady received me with the greatest kind¬ 
ness, and bewailed my misfortunes with unfeigned 
tears. I proposed to her my anxious wish to retire 
from a world that presented nothing but care which 
ever way I looked at it, and that if her convent 
could not receive me, she might, perhaps, assist in 
introducing rne to some other, where I might take 
{he veil. Alas ! said she, it is ever thus with youth 
when it suffers from the world’s frowns ; retirement 
from it is to them the only remedy, and such a situa¬ 
tion appears, if not a Paradise, at least an asylum 

% 

from pain. But are they sure that the walls of a 
convent are thick enough to keep out the sound of 
the world’s pleasures, when the first paroxysm of 
Sorrow has subsided, and the mind left free for fresh 
impressions ? Remember, my poor girl, that it is not 
disgust at the world’s vanities, nor fear of its temp¬ 
tations, which brings you here; you have still a taste 
for its pleasures, and are only disappointed at not 
enjoying them. The only fit resident for the 
cloister, is that being who has essayed life’s course, 
and who, having by constant self-denial at length 



ON THE CONTINENT. 213 

f 

subdued all taste for its allurements, retires, not from 
the pains and sorrows it inflicts, but from its follies and 
its crimes; or he who, still a prey to passion, dares 
no longer trust himself with the means of gratifica¬ 
tion ; but abandoning the field through fear, shuts 
himself up within the impregnable walls of coercive 
virtue. Are you aware of the insult we offer 
Heaven, when we enlist under its banners merely to 
shelter ourselves from the world’s troubles? No, 
my poor girl, the world and its rational enjoyments 
are open to you still, and it will be long before you 
are arrived at that condition of mind which can 
warrant your seclusion from it. Rouse yourself 
from your present lethargy,—you are too soon sub¬ 
dued by misfortune. The man who has wronged your 
aunt and deprived you of support, is high in the esti¬ 
mation of his master for his military service; draw up a 
memorial of the hard condition he has reduced you 
to, and through the means of the Empress Josephine, 
who is always accessible to the injured, procure its 
presentation to the Emperor: lose no time in carry¬ 
ing this into execution, and trust in Heaven, and 
* \ , ' 
the justice of your cause. 

• i 'V I / Vl % 

4 - •* - • 2 • 4 

Her argument was too strong to be resisted, 



i 








214 


A TOUR 


and I immediately set about the task. With the 
aid of my kind friend I soon completed the me¬ 
morial, and being furnished by her with money 
for my journey, and an introductory letter to a 
friend of her’s at Paris, I set out for that city, 
feeling within myself a sufficient confidence for the 
undertaking. How cheering is the smile of real 
friendship ! Before this interview, the want of such 
a blessing had reduced me to the very brink of de¬ 
spair : I was now full of hope, and mistress of that 
energy which she never fails to inspire. 

• 

I arrived at Paris, and immediately set out for 
Malmaison, the favorite residence of Josephine. I 
soon found an opportunity, as she was entering her 
carriage, to present my memorial, together with a 
copy of it for her perusal. The affable manner in 
which she received them quieted my agitation, and 
I felt, that had she permitted me, I could then have 
found confidence enough to have communicated my 
story to her. Your address, said she, is, I see, 
affixed to the paper, and I shall not lose sight of 
you. Before leaving me she had read enough to 
learn the nature of my case, and her remark was 
rendered doubly welcome to me on that account. 


I 


ON THE CONTINENT. 215 

I had scarcely returned to Paris, before I received 
a summons to attend her the following morning. 
She then told me she had fully considered the sub¬ 
ject of my petition, and sincerely lamented the in¬ 
justice through which I suffered; but suggested, in 
lieu of the memorial to the Emperor, that I should 
endeavour to move the offending party to do me 
justice, and threaten to appeal to public opinion 
should my entreaties fail; for, said she, he has the 
ear of the Emperor, and will not fail to make his 
story good. It is a serious charge, and if your ends 
can be answered without bringing matters to this 
extremity, it will be the wiser step to pursue. I 
told her majesty, that could entreaty have moved 
him, I should not now have had to trouble her with 
my misfortunes; that his own wife, who by his 
cruelty, he had brought to misery and death, had 
endeavoured, in vain, to move him on my account, 
even though she drew the most piteous picture of 
the ruin that would attend me, should he remain 
deaf to the last petition she could ever make to him. 
To this, which would have melted adamant, he re¬ 
mained cold and immoveable, and my poor aunt 
died soon after in the dreadful certainty that my 
condition was hopeless. What prospect, then, can 


\ 


'216 


A TOUR 


I have from such a quarter ? and to intimidate hint 

V 

by the dread of public odium, is past my hopes $ 
for he who can defy the public opinion of the city 
where he resided, and meet present abhorrence with 
indifference, can have little to dread in the detesta¬ 
tion which is at a distance from him. I have avoid¬ 
ed touching on these points in my memorial, that 
should he be induced, from fear of the Emperor’s 
displeasure, to grant me some portion of the pro¬ 
perty which my poor aunt designed for me, he 
might be saved from the abhorrence into which such 
a disclosure would inevitably involve him. I am not 
seeking revenge, nor does the meek spirit of my de¬ 
parted relative require the sacrifice of her destroyer; 
my object is purely to save myself from ruin, and 
without your beneficent support my fate is inevitable. 
Josephine should not have been an Empress ;—she 
was formed for the social virtues, and could not with* 
stand the force of nature; she burst into tears at my 
concluding sentence, and dismissed me with the assu¬ 
rance that my wish should be complied with;—she 
told me she should make use of what I had omitted 
in the memorial, if the Emperor’s objections should 
render it necessary, but not otherwise. This inter¬ 
view had taken a load from off my breast, and I 


217 


• ON THE CONTINENT. 

felt as if I should be more calm, more resigned, 
than I had hitherto been, even should this last effort 
be unsuccessful; for since I had done all in my 
power to extricate myself from injustice, what I 
might suffer would be through the cruelty of others, 
and nothing from my self-reproach. 

I continued in Paris for some time, conceiving it 
possible I might receive a second summons to attend 
at Malmaison. I had no other motive in doing so ; 
for the gaiety of the place* in the then anxious state 
of my mind, only tended to aggravate my sufferings 
by constantly interrupting my thoughts, without be¬ 
ing able to dissipate my doubts and fears as to the 
result of my enterprise. I endeavoured to fortify 
my mind against a failure in it, and had enough to 
do with perplexing speculations on my future con¬ 
dition, should such be the case. My hopes, how¬ 
ever, were not below my fears; indeed, I was even 
sanguine in my anticipations, for I felt that I had a 
friend in the Empress, and that the justice of my 
cause with such an advocate, could hardly fail of 
success. 

i > 

I remained at Paris for more than a month in a 





218 


A TOUR 


state of uncertainty; sometimes disposed to consider 
the delay as a favorable, and sometimes as a fearful 
omen. At length I received a letter from a banker 
there, stating that he had been instructed to place a 
sum of money to my credit, which he was prepared 
to pay in whatever manner I should think proper to 
direct. The sum amounted to precisely one-third 
of my poor aunt’s fortune, exactly corresponding 
with the settlement which she had requested might 
be made on me, in the letter she wrote a little prior 
to her death. This fortunate result of my applica¬ 
tion to the Empress far exceeded my expectations; 
and in the fulness of my gratitude I was about to 
set off for Malmaison to throw myself at her feet, 
when a lady, who I had never seen before, waited 
upon me to say, that the Empress was quite satisfied 
of my gratitude, and had desired that I should avoid 
any personal acknowledgment of it. I took that 
occasion, however, the only one which her injunc¬ 
tion left open to me, to declare, that to the Empress 
alone, under Heaven, did I owe this release from 
misery and ruin. She then returned me the me¬ 
morial addressed to the Emperor, with the seal un¬ 
broken,, observing, that my object had been accom- 

■ • t 

plished without proceeding so far. She then left me 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


219 


to draw my own conclusion, as to the means em¬ 
ployed in bringing this fortunate event to pass; and 
from the gentle and amiable mind of Josephine, I 
have little doubt, but anxious to save, even the 
worst of mankind, from the total ruin which a dis¬ 
closure of his unfeeling depravity must have exposed 
him to in the Emperor’s resentment, she had 
thought proper to rouse him from his fallacious no¬ 
tions of security, and had at length succeeded in 
bringing him to do me justice for his own sake, 
though he could not have been moved to grant it 
for mine. She had, indeed, saved him from the 
punishment due to his crimes, in the hope, no doubt, 
that his narrow escape would warn him of his 
danger, and teach him to amend a life of villainy 
that could hardly hope to be a second time so for¬ 
tunate. These are, however, my conjectures only, 
for no further light was ever thrown on the subject. 
I returned thanks to the hospitable family with 
whom I had resided during my stay at Paris, and 
returned to the convent to give an account of the 
happy issue of my kind friend’s advice, and to con¬ 
sult her on the measures I should adopt for my fu¬ 
ture guidance. I need not say how much my suc¬ 
cess rejoiced her, tor the interest she had taken in 


220 


A TOUR 


niy troubles can vouch for that. My circumstances 
were now more than comfortable, for the interest 
of my property was equal to the expense in which 
I had been accustomed to live while with my aunt, 
and I stood in need of nothing but good advice to 
direct me in the use of it. 

I am now coming to that period of my story at 
which the most interesting circumstances of life 
occur, and on the smiles or frowns of which, de¬ 
pends the joy, or misery of what remains of it. I 
have hitherto avoided all mention of love, because, 
as I would not allow it to obtrude, even when it first 
possessed me, on the attention, which, by inclina¬ 
tion as 'Well as gratitude, I was called upon to ad¬ 
minister to the sufferings of my poor aunt; so in the 
picture I have drawn of my life, as far as she was in 
any way concerned, I have studiously omitted all 
mention of it, that I might not injure myself un¬ 
justly in your opinion, by appearing for a moment 
divided between the love of myself and my duty to 
her; but as every thing connected with my poor aunt 
is now over, both in the reality, and my sad story 
of it, I hasten at once to the subject, that I may 
pass through the painful duty I owe you, and then 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


221 


bury the subject for ever in my silent remembrance: 
but for you, it had remained undisturbed in that 
noiseless sepulchre, where the lamp that watches it, is 
continually fed from the wastings of a breaking heart. 

Some time before the unhappy marriage of my 
aunt, while every delight and blessing seemed ripen¬ 
ing for my enjoyment,—when morning waked me to 
health and cheerfulness, and night still closed upon 
a cloudless day;—in this bright dawn of life it was 
my fate to meet with one, whose fond attention to 
me so moved my young heart, that it began to feel 
a void within it whenever he was absent. Bv slow, 
but sure degrees, he still increased in interest to me, 
for he lost no occasion, by assiduity and respect, to 
press his suit with me. My aunt, who highly re¬ 
spected his father, approved the intimacy, and by her 
permission, he would constantly accompany us in 
our walks, and always made one in our evening 
amusements. He was handsome, which flattered 
my vanity indeed, but he was amiable too, and that 
made me love him. I will not dilate on the par^ 
ticulars of his worth, for love is apt to magnify all 
merit in the object of it, and perhaps, through that 
fallacious medium I have beeu taught to over-rate 


222 


A TOUR 


him. To me, at ieast, he had learnt to be invalu¬ 
able, and my happiness then depended on his con¬ 
tinuing to be so. His father had been a merchant 
of considerable wealth \ but in consequence of the 
war had suffered severe losses, and was induced 
from the fear of further injury to his fortune, to 
abandon his speculations, and husband what re¬ 
mained of his property for the benefit of his son. 
He had been a widower many years, and lived now 
with no other prospect than his settlement in life: 
he was pleased with the growing intimacy, and just 
lived long enough to see it ripening into maturity, 
without one blight. In the midst of my suffering 
it has ever been a consolation to me to reflect on 
this, for he was the best of men, and ought to have 
escaped the sorrows that have since assailed us. 
But why do I say this ? my poor aunt as little me¬ 
rited affliction, yet she fell the early victim of the 
bitterest species of it. Let me not, however, ques¬ 
tion the decrees of Heaven: I have seen enough, 
indeed, to convince me that we do not always avert 
sorrow by virtue, for my kind aunt had never died 
of grief could this have been a shield against it:— 
here let the question rest. He lived, as I have said, 
just long enough to see the happy prospect of our 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


223 


union, which soon after his death became clouded 
with the misery I have painted. 

My lover,—for why should I disguise the term ? 
—having paid every duty and respect to the remains 
of a beloved parent, was now under the necessity of 
quitting France for some time, in order to secure 
the property left him ; for although his father had 
long since given up his mercantile concerns, he had 
not been able to obtain the full possession of what 
remained to him, prior to his death. To accomplish 
this object, his son was under the necessity of mak¬ 
ing a voyage to the Island of St. Lucie, and on the 
eve of his departure we exchanged our mutual 
vows of living only for each other. Oh ! when I 
mention this, my burning brain destroys me.— 
Great Heaven ! what vengeance had’st thou then in 
store for me ? what thunders that have since hurled 
ruin on this desolate breast ?—But all is over now, 
and apathy, which some call resignation, has do¬ 
minion over what is left of me. Soon after his de¬ 
parture my aunt married; what followed this you 
are now acquainted with. I wrote apprising him of 
the event, but cautiously avoided all mention of the 
misery which attended it, lest I might interrupt 


224 


A TOUR 





the necessary attention to his concerns, and by that 


means involve him in the mischief of this disastrous 


union. 


Our daily increasing miseries now engrossed my 
entire mind, and I became almost an alien to myself. 
Borne down by affliction, I forgot my duty to him and 
to myself; my once pleasing task of writing to him 
was now abandoned ; and become, at last, after the 
death of my poor aunt, as ruined in circumstances 
as I was in mind, I shuddered at the possibility of his 
indifference to me in my lost condition, and could not 

prevail on myself to apprise him of my misfortunes. I 

# 

was prepared to bear poverty in its worst shape,—to 
meet, with patience, the sneers and contempt of all 
my former acquaintance,—I was ready to bend with 
resignation to death itself, under the gripe of fa¬ 
mine :—but for deserted love, I had no shield, no 
antidote;—his neglect of me might make me doubt 
him, indeed, but then I should have hoped again, 
and while he said nothing I should still have trusted 
in him ;—it is true, had my misfortunes induced 
him to abandon me, I should have lost nothing in 
losing him; yet as love was all I had left to live for, 
I dared not put it to the test:—deprived of hope 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


225 


from every quarter else, I would not venture there ; 
it was my only prop,—my mind’s sole resting place, 
—and nothing could support if that should fail me. 
Under this impression of mind, I avoided writing to 
him for some time prior to my aunt’s death. I 
could not bear, for the reasons I have stated, to in¬ 
form him of my ruined circumstances; and fearing, 
if I wrote at all, that no caution of mine could pro¬ 
tect my letter from being tainted with the wretched¬ 
ness of my condition ; and this, aided by the un¬ 
happy state of mind (which had nearly turned my 
brain), induced me to neglect my correspondence 
altogether. I had not, indeed, heard from him for 
a considerable time; but this seeming neglect, though 
it tortured me with fears and doubts about him, had 
been no motive with me for the silence I had observed. 
It often led me, however, to fear that some prudent 
friend of his who might have considered my property 
all that was desirable of me, had apprised him of what 
had happened, and that he had chosen silence as the 
least painful acknowledgment of his indifference 
to me. Bewildered with perplexities, and every 
way beset with trouble, my mind became a blank, 
and I was bereft, at once, of judgment to direct, 
or energy to execute. Thus subdued, I gave up 
Tour. P 


226 


A TOUR 


the struggle with adversity, and threw my fortune 
into the lap of chance. 

On my quitting R-, I left instructions with 

a servant of my late aunt to receive any letters that 
might arrive there addressed to me, and to keep 
charge of them until I should inform her of my new 
address. This, on my arrival at the farm house near 
Nantes, I immediately furnished her with, but no¬ 
thing transpired in consequence up to the return 
from my successful visit to Paris. A few days sub¬ 
sequent to this however, I received a letter from St. 

* 

Lucie, but not from the being for whom alone I 

✓ 

lived; the address was in a strange hand, and my 
soul sunk within me; the joy of my recovered 
fortune was in a moment blasted ; to share it with 
him was all the use I had for that, or life itself!—I 
was frantic with despair, and dared not venture fur¬ 
ther for a proof. —Oh! had he lived ! I said, he 
would have written the address himself, he would 
have mastered even the grasp of death to do it, for 

r 

he knew my sensitive nature could not stand a shock 
so sudden and overwhelming. I sunk under the 
weight of my suspicion, and was only restored by 
the tender efforts of my kind friend, who, during 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


227 


my repeated faintings, judged it best to open the 
letter, make herself acquainted with the truth, and 
act accordingly. Her gentle but firm assurance 
that my fears were groundless, gradually brought 
me to myself again, and strengthened me to face 
the less, though still alarming, evil. 

He had been prevented writing to me for a consi¬ 
derable time owing to severe illness, which on no ac¬ 
count could he be brought to apprise me of, because 
he knew the distress in which it would involve me; he 
trusted in the daily hopes of recovery, and meant to 

. i 

defer all communication to me till that event. In¬ 
stead of amendment in health however, his disorder 
had taken an unfavorable turn, and he was seized 
with the fever ; he still issued his earnest injunctions 
that I should not be apprised of his condition, and 
thus from month to month his silence continued, 
till the alarming state to which he had been re¬ 
duced, urged his friend, who had never left him 
during his illness, to apprise me of it without his 
consent. Thank Heaven ! I exclaimed, thou mayest 
yet perhaps afford me the means to comfort him in 
his extremity, and save me from the agonising re- 


228 


A TOUR 


proach, which I should otherwise never cease to 
heap upon myself, for the neglect of my silence, and 
ungenerous doubt of his truth and fervor for me. 
I was not for a moment divided on the course I 
should pursue, and taking leave of my amiable 
friend, I proceeded to the coast with the daughter of 
my late hostess, as an attendant, and embarked with 
her on board a vessel bound to St. Lucie. Through¬ 
out the voyage I never ceased in my prayers to 
Heaven to spare the object of my love to bless my 
future years, or if I asked too much in that, to pro¬ 
long his life at least for one dear interview, and then 
unite us in the bands of death. What transpired 
during our passage I know not, the wind was fair 
they said, yet the time on board the vessel seemed 
longer to me than all my life before it; all were 
astonished at the speed we flew with, while to me 
our vessel seemed to crawl upon the waves as if it 
mocked at my impatience. At length we reached 
the looked-for shore which was to unveil my des¬ 
tiny, and show if there yet remained one earthly 
charm to make me cling to life; it was a fearful 
trial, and I shuddered for the event,—but my ruin 
was not yet matured, and I was left to tower above 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


229 


misfortune for a while, till I should reach that height 
of happiness, the headlong hurl from which, could 
alone appease my ruthless fate. 

I found the dearest object of my tenderness still 
lingering in disease ; the violence of his fever had 
subsided indeed, but he was so reduced from the 
length of his sickness, that I had no remembrance 
of him but in the tone of his voice : he had not 
strength to speak much upon the subject of my un¬ 
expected visit to him, but the little he said repaid 
me at once for all I had suffered on his and my own 
account. I have every confidence now in my re¬ 
covery, said he, for my chief anxiety was for you ; 
I knew your love for me, but I did not see you, and 
could not tell how the change in your aunt’s con¬ 
dition affected you ; my long silence too, which was 
for the best, though it might keep the knowledge 
of my illness from you, could not but distress you 
with my seeming indifference; I could not write 
myself, and was unwilling to allow my friend to do 
so, because I dreaded the effect it might have upon 
you y for such an admission of my own inability, 
would have even magnified the extent of my dis- 

I / 

order, and that indeed has been bad enough. My 


230 


A TOUR 


friend however, fearful of consequences, could no 
longer withhold the knowledge of my condition from 
you, and lately informed me of his having written j 
I should not have had courage to require this myself 
of him, but considering circumstances, I was not 
sorry he had done so.—You however had not the 
same excuse for your long silence, and I have been 
left to conjecture a thousand things to afflict me on 
your account. I sometimes feared that your aunt’s 
marriage might have weakened the link of affection 
between you, and for want of the truth I was left 
to imagine the worst. I often saw in my mind’s eye, 
the innocent pleasures of the little circle, of which, 
before my departure, I had been permitted to form 
a part, broken in upon by unwelcome intruders ; 
and though I had every dependance on your truth 
and sincerity, yet I had fears for your happiness; 
your silence only tended to increase the alarm, and 
on this agitation of mind my chance of recovery was 
considerably lessened ;—you are with me now, and 
my fears are at rest. 

He was exceedingly anxious even in his weak con¬ 
dition to learn every thing respecting me since his 
departure; but had my account been a cheerful one. 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


231 


it would have been dangerous to have indulged him 
in it; as it was, I was determined to waive it al¬ 
together, till his restoration to health would warrant 
the communication. He was visibly exhausted by 
his exertion, and I judged it best to leave him for 
a while, lest my presence should tempt him to further 
enquiries, and produce a restlessness that might 
endanger a relapse of the fever which had now hap¬ 
pily subsided. 

/ 

When I was once more alone, I began, for the 
first time since my quitting France, to calculate on 
the consequence of the step I had taken. In the 
violence of my feelings on his account, I was directed 
by no other guide, and the opinion which the world 
might form of me, on that account, had never once 
occurred to me ; but my fears for him had now ma¬ 
terially subsided, because his fever had left him, and 
his physician considered that time and care would 
eventually restore him ; and in this calm of mind I 
found leisure to reason with myself on what I had 
done. The world, said I, ever guided by appear¬ 
ances, will condemn the measure, and my character 
may suffer through the fearlessness of virtue; but 
what harm can this do to one, who looks for hap- 


232 


A TOUR 


piness to him only for whose sake she has trans¬ 
gressed ; he will not desert me for the sacrifice made 
on his account, and possessing him, where can the 
slander wound me ? Should he have considered the 
step I had taken a rash one, 1 knew the delicacy of 
his mind would prompt him to rescue me at once 
by marriage from incurring the slightest injury 
through it; yet for that very reason I was anxious he 
should see the measure in a different light, for to love 
alone did I desire to owe our union, and strong as 
was my affection for him, I would for ever have 
abandoned my claim, rather than rest my title to 
him on any other influence. 

As he increased in strength, and when I thought 
his spirits could bear the relation, I communicated 
to him every circumstance respecting my poor aunt 
that had transpired during his absence from us. He 
was bitterly affected at the narrative, and wept at the 
melancholy change which so short a period had ef¬ 
fected ; but when I related the forlorn and desolate 
condition into which her misfortunes and death had 
plunged me, he could restrain the violence of his 
feelings no longer; but without waiting to hear the 
prosperity which followed, he pressed me to his 


f 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


233 


bosom, and called Heaven to witness the sincerity 
of his vow, that nothing on earth should again 
divide us :—No ! thou dear object of my happiness ! 
could I have seen but half the sorrows that awaited 
you when last we parted, no lure of wealth should 
have robbed you for a moment of the shelter and 
consolation of him, who had'even then pledged him¬ 
self to be your guardian and protector. No! 
from this hour we are united, and one destiny, 
whatever it may be, shall be the lot of both. 
Though through long illness I have not yet been 
able to recover the property here which belonged to 
my father, and which from wayward circumstances, 
I may never attain, yet I am not without the means 
of providing for the necessities of both :—’tis true, 
it was my intention to have led you to a more 
splendid home than fortune seems now disposed to 
bless us with, but undiminished in the wealth of 
your affection, I am still too rich to feel a moment’s 
envy at the lot of any. I thought not of your for¬ 
tune while you might have had it, and cannot miss 
* 

it now that it is gone. We are still safe against the 
fear of want, and fortune that has dealt so hardly 
with us, may in her fickle humour return some 
future day to make atonement. 


234 ' 


A TOUR 


This disinterestedness of his love made me at once 
the happiest of creatures, and I rejoiced that the 
lucky turn of my affairs, through the influence of 
Josephine, enabled me to quiet his mind with re¬ 
gard to our circumstances ; for although I was satis¬ 
fied that his then limited means gave him little con¬ 
cern on his own account, yet when he thought of 
me, I felt all the secret repining of his heart at our 
seemingly reduced condition. Blest in each other’s 
love, and possessed of fortune too, we had the 
world before us in all its fairest promise ; the clouds 
which had before obscured our prospect were now 
dispersed, and we looked onward through the scene, 
as if the storm that had gone by had gathered all the 
mists before it, and left us one unruffled course of 
sunshine. Nor were our hopes delusive, for the 
horizon was as bright and cheerful as that which 
Eden saw before the fall; and we were blessed with 
some few years of unmixed happiness. But I have 

passed the boundary since, through ruthless tern- 

* 

pests that have quite overwhelmed me, and the 
sun’s cheering beams can reach me now no more;— 
the clouds are gathering still round my bewildered 
head, and night is closing on me;—but why should 
I distress you with this gloomy anticipation of my 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


235 


concluding narrative?—lo resume \ the sincerity of 
our affection was soon rewarded by our union ; we 
remained at St. Lucie for three years, during which 
he recovered the greatest part of his property, and 
we were blessed with two dear pledges of our love. 

The tenderness of my dear husband, and the 
sweet care which now devolved on us in our be¬ 
loved children, left me nothing to desire,—the mea¬ 
sure of my happiness was full. We had no motive 
for remaining in the island but the recovery of the 
property in question, and having now settled this 
matter we decided on returning to France, and living 
on a small estate which my husband inherited, and 
which, had his efforts failed at St. Lucie, would 
have been his only dependance. On the fourth 
year from my quitting my country we now returned 
to it, and took up our abode on the property I have 
mentioned, which was situated a few miles from the 
town of Laon. Here, at the foot of a hill, which 
formed a gradual slope towards the river Aisne, 
stood the Cottage of Content, for such we called our 
residence. My husband was romantic in his taste, 
and having little desire for splendor, which, he 
would say, tended as much to inspire envy as admi- 


236 


A TOUR 


ration, cultivated the more solid enjoyments of life, 
and by his love and attention left me nothing to re¬ 
gret in our peaceful retirement. The circle of our 
society was small, but it was on that account select; 
it was sufficiently extensive however for all the pur¬ 
poses of social enjoyment, and beyond this we had 
no wish to cultivate it. I had already experienced 
the reverse of fortune, and anxious to avert a re¬ 
petition of her frowns, I thought the vale of life the 
best security, and sheltered from the vain and noisy 
world, within the deepest shade of its calm bosom; 
there, encompassed by my treasures, I watched the 
gradual opening of their minds, and spared no pains 
to improve and cultivate them. By the taste of the 
once dear partner of my pleasures and my hopes, 
our retirement continued to advance in beauty till it 
became an elysium, in which, with the dear objects 
about me, I could have dwelt for ever. His chief oc¬ 
cupation was to plan improvements in the grounds 
around our cottage, and attend the execution of them; 
this, together with his superintendence of a considera- 
blefarm, which he had since purchased, furnished him 
sufficient employment for his time; and whenever the 
delightful task of instructing my little ones was over, 
I always accompanied him in his occupation, pursued 












ON THE CONTINENT. 


237 


by them, who never failed to enchant us with their in¬ 
quisitive prattle. With little variation in our progress 
of life from what I have related, we passed through 
six bright years of happiness since our return to 
France. My girl had now attained her eighth, and 
my boy his seventh year, and their delighted parents 
would fondly speculate on their future advance¬ 
ment in life ;—but why should I trouble you with 
this detail, or why indeed myself ? Robbed as I am of 
all but the remembrance, why should I cherish that ? 
Alas! *ny tortured brain will cling to it, as to an only 
friend that is fast guiding me from all my sufferings ! 
—no fresh disaster can affect me now,—my mind is 
callous to all other ill—my cup of misery can hold no 
more, and all my sad vicissitude of thought is looking 
back at those dear scenes of bliss, and then returning 
to the dreary void in which I am wandering now. 

In the midst of that happy period of my life, 
while joy so smiled around us, that we thought our 
bliss beyond the reach of fate, a sudden storm over¬ 
took us in our glory, and laid our visionary pros¬ 
pect waste. 

The war, which since the Revolution had scarcely 


i 



238 


A TOUR 


made my country once the scene of it, was now, 
through the failure of the Russian campaign, and its 
subsequent disasters, become itself the theatre. I 
need not enumerate the various contests which fol¬ 
lowed ; suffice it to say that the advancing or re¬ 
treating enemy never failed to leave behind them 
some trace of their revenge. I know not upon 
what principle they justify this, if the beings, on 

whom they inflicted it, were no parties to the cruel- 

\ 

ties which they sought to resent; and though in the 
rage of war we cannot look for. cool and dispas¬ 
sionate measures,—and injustice will prevail through 
the irritated feelings of the moment,—yet what ex¬ 
cuse can be found for the bloody calculations of that 
political hyena, who coolly writes it down as just, 
for the power of one nation to pay off on the inno¬ 
cents of another, the cruelties which the army 
thereof had inflicted on those of its own ? 

The war now raged with relentless fury through 
that part of the country in which our elysium stood ; 
and our once happy home became the scene of ter¬ 
ror and confusion; the valley in which it was situ¬ 
ated was alternately in the occupation of the hostile 
and protecting armies, and my foreboding heart was 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


239 


trembling for the event. The shady groves about 
us, where the opening foliage of the spring was be¬ 
ginning to enliven the landscape, disappeared, as if 
by magic, before their desolating march. The face 
of nature was withering all around us, and giving 
ample notice of the brooding storm: my soul 
sunk within me, I knew not where I was; my 
children too forsook their usual sports and clung to 
me for safety, but their home was full of danger, 
and I knew no other shelter. The cannon’s roar 
began the bursting hurricane,—the sound was deep 
and distant; it continued through the day in one in¬ 
cessant thunder;—the sound advanced upon us, the 
hostile force was beaten, and the conquering army 
was pressing hard upon their retreating rear. The 
flying cavalry now passed our dwelling, and at a 
distance I saw the routed army pouring down upon 
us like a deluge; they fired the adjacent village, 
and were revenging themselves by every cruelty on 
the helpless peasantry. Oh God ! the close of my 
sad story is at hand !—they forced our dwelling, 
seized upon me with brutal violence, and would have 
dragged me on with them. My husband rushed be¬ 
tween to rescue me, while our two children hung 
upon us both, and called for mercy. They were 


i 


240 


A TOUR 


heeded not, their cries were useless—the fatal blow 
was struck, and my dead husband’s bleeding body 
lay before me. I sunk upon the corpse, and asked 
for death as mercy from them! but, in vain: I called 
them conquered cowards, but could not provoke 
them to it,—nothing would do : my senses left me 
for a time, and when I awoke to reason, I found my 
darling boy still grappling to my dress as if he 
sought for safety; but, no! it was the grasp of 
death—he too was gone,—the mingling blood of 
parent and child will never vanish from me,—Oh ! 
what a time has grief been torturing the poor vic¬ 
tim it must kill at last!—death is the only home for 
me, nothing remains of mine on this side heaven,— 
nothing to hope for but the peaceful grave. My 
poor, poor girl soon sunk beneath our sufferings; she 
sickened shortly after, and left her wretched 

mother to linger for a while and then to join her. 

► 

Oh ! how I long for that sweet call of death that 
will unite us all again ;—that will transfer me to 
that bright elysium which they now enjoy, and 
where the cannon’s roar and bloody sword will 
never more disturb us! 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


241 


LETTER X. 


Calais. 

E left our friends soon after my last letter to 
you, and proceeded by the shortest route to this 
town. The road from St. Dizier, to the place at 
which w r e rested after our first day’s journey, is 
hard and level, and away we went trotting towards 
Vitry le Frar^ois, without stay or impediment; for 
poor Jaques seemed bent on showing us the met¬ 
tle of his horses after their long rest. 

I have nothing to say of Vitry, excepting that the 
accommodation at la Ville de Nancy was execrable 
for so respectable a town, and the charges too dis¬ 
honest to be endured. I am not much disposed to 
back time and temper against moderate imposition, 
and would much rather put up with that than make 
myself uneasy by resisting it ; but when the dis¬ 
honest charge becomes so glaring as to exceed 
double what should be claimed, the most forbearing 
mind would revolt at a silent submission to such 
Tour. O 



242 


A TOUR 


manifest injustice : it is not, indeed, so much the 
additional expense, as the anger we feel at our¬ 
selves for yielding like passive dupes to a set of 
vulgar extortioners. We had by this time become, 
through experience, pretty good judges of what we 
ought to pay, and on my life I would rather have 
thrown away twice the amount than have submitted to 
it. I told our host that I would not pay the bill unless, 
on his accompanying me to the Prefect, he could 
procure his signature that the claim was fair. After 
much pro and con , he rendered this unnecessary, 
by taking eighteen francs off a bill of fifty. This 
was a sort of passport to us through the remaining 
towns, and answered like an interpreter, to the un¬ 
intelligible demands of the rest of these harpies. 
I parted from our host, assuring him, that I would 
warn the English against yielding to such dis¬ 
honesty. 

We now proceeded to Chalons-sur-Marne, which, 
like Ypres, we entered in a severe storm of thunder 
and rain. This town must have been in league 
with that which we had just left, for the host of the 
Palais Royal at which we put up, had arranged 
matters, on the score of charge, precisely in the same 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


243 


way that I have just informed you of: I had, how¬ 
ever, from my late success become bold in the use 
of my antidote against this poison ; so applying it as 
I had done before, I sent him back his account with 
an abatement in the same proportion as at Vitry; but 
1 found mine host of the Palais Royal a stouter adver¬ 
sary than the former, and by no means disposed to sub¬ 
mit to my dictation :—Weil, said I, you will go with 
me then to the Prefect, and his determination shall 
regulate my conduct. The Prefect, answered he, 
has no concern whatever with my affairs, and I in¬ 
sist on every franc of my account.—Now, said I, in 
return, as the host at Vitry has let me into the 
secret, I am resolved it shall not be thrown away 
upon me, and if you will not submit to my fair 
proposal, I will settle the matter myself, without the 
aid of the Prefect; so ordering the carriage, I ten¬ 
dered him the amount agreeably to my abatement, 
which he refused, informing me in a bullying man¬ 
ner, that I should not depart without paying the 
demand as he had charged it. To submit to a threat 
from one whose conduct was so palpably dishonest, 
was a little too unsavoury for my stomach : besides, 
I had gone too far to submit now, and knowing 
that I had justice on my side, I determined on put- 


244 - 


A TOUR 


ting the threat of our unbending host to the test; 
and on the arrival of the carriage at the door, I laid 
down the sum which I at first tendered, and handing 
my companions in, I entered next myself, leaving 
the surly Frenchman muttering something or other, 
no matter what, about les Anglois, as we passed 
out of the inn-yard. 

Our treatment at this place was really unbearable; 
for there was not a single dish at dinner which we 
could eat neither of meat nor vegetable, and the 
bread was nearly black and quite sour; to add to 
this mortification, the wine was as bad as the other 
fare, a circumstance which had not happened to us 
before in the course of our tour, excepting at Ypres 
in the Netherlands. Now you, who know my 

great aversion to any thing like wrangling in these 

-»• ., 

matters, will readily give me credit, that there was 
more than sufficient here to warrant the resistance 
which I made. 

We passed through Rheims in this day’s journey, 
but as there was a considerable fall of rain at the 
time we entered it, we were prevented making any 
visits to its churches or other public buildings. The 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


245 


distance of Laon from this city was too great for 
what was left of this day, and we were again re¬ 
duced to the necessity of passing the night in a little 
village; it was Berry-au-Bac, situated on a river 

which we were obliged to cross on a raft, as the 

/ 

bridge was rebuilding; the old one having been 
blown up on the retreat from Waterloo. In this 
village I slept in the same room that Napoleon had 
occupied on that occasion. 

On the following morning we proceeded to Laon, 
which is situated on the summit of a high hill, and 
from whence we had a fine view of the country 
into which Napoleon marched with the main army, 
in order to form a junction with the two divisions 
under Vandamme and Girard, prior to the attack on 
the Prussians, who were posted on the Belgian 
frontier, the defeat of which, was followed by the 
battle of Waterloo. We left this place after having 
dined, for Le Fere, where we passed the night. 
You will, no doubt, exclaim on coming to the con¬ 
clusion of this day’s journey—What, pass through 
Rheims, and not stop to view the ancient cathedral, 
in which the ceremony of coronation has been so¬ 
lemnised through so many ages, on the kings of 


246 


A TOUR 


France! Surely a shower of rain could not be suf¬ 
ficient to silence the enquiring mind, even in the 
very lap of information! It was not so at Ypres, 
in the commencement of your Tour, though the- 
thunder accompanied it. True—but my little 
work was then only beginning its career, and every 
thing was new to it. The most trifling circum¬ 
stance, in a foreign land, was of sufficient impor¬ 
tance to swell the pages of the Infant Narrative, 
that appeared to me then, as if it could never reach 
the growth to which it has since attained; some 
how or other, against my expectation, it has swelled 
into maturity, and by hook and by crook, kept 
pace with me through every stage of my advance, 
and is but a town or two behind me in the retreat. 
It is now rather seeking rest than activity, and in its 
indolence is leaving church and cathedral, city and 
country, with scarcely one comment. Its dissolu¬ 
tion may be therefore considered close at hand, and 
its last gasp be looked for in every succeeding sen¬ 
tence. It is a type and figure of life itself. In youth, 

»* • *’ 

the relish for novelty finds flavor in every incident, 
however trifling, because every thing is new to it. 
In manhood, as the keen edge of curiosity becomes 
a little blunted, we rather select our objects than ga- 


ON THE CONTINENT. 


247 


ther them at random, and if we abate in enthusiasm, 
we make up for that in the solidity of our matter : — 
but in old age, as the freezing blood is halting in the 
system, we begin to feel the hour approach which is 
to separate us from all concern in what we have so 
long contemplated, and as our interest lessens in the 
objects around us, we are left, at length, without 
even the desire to communicate the effect they have 
upon us. To this Old Age has my Narrative now 
arrived, and after another flash or two in the socket 
it must expire. 

We quitted Le Fere on the following morning, 
with the view of reaching Arras that night ; and for 
the sake of shortening the distance, on our arrival 
at St. Quentin, we took the old road instead of 

1 

passing through Peronne, which is the direct high¬ 
way : by this measure we saved about nine miles of 
distance, without ever calculating, till it was too late, 
that time is equivalent to space, and that the heavi¬ 
ness and difficulty of this route were more than a 
balance, in the opinion of our horses, to the distance 
it had saved them. The fault, indeed, was chiefly 
our Cocher’s, whose unceasing calculation was how 
to lighten, as much as possible, the labor of his be- 


248 


A TOUR 


loved charge, for which he certainly entertained the 
most friendly regard; he was, however, mistaken 
on this occasion,• since he materially added to 
their exertion by the difficulty of a road, which 
in several parts had become almost impassable, for 
want of use and repair. For this increased hardship 
to his horses, he continually reproached himself 
during the remainder of the journey, and on our 
arrival here, he was not yet in good humour with 
himself. But to return to my subject; our cattle 
were so knocked up by the uneven and soft road, 
which, by the bye, was little better than ploughed 
fields, that with the utmost difficulty we reached 
the village of Ron$oy that evening, which was 
scarcely more than half way from Le Fere to Arras. 

to 

4 

When we were within about four miles of this 
village, we quitted our carriage in order to lighten 
it for our horses, which, notwithstanding this help, 
could by no means keep pace with our gentle pro¬ 
menade. On our arrival at a little hamlet in this 
walk to Ron 9 oy, we stopped to make some inquiry, 
and were very civilly asked if we wished to light our 
pipes; the compliment on this occasion was paid 
to a lady of our party; but why it was so I am not 



ON THE CONTINENT. 


249 


able to divine, since through all our Tour I never 
met with a single instance, that I remember, of a 
female smoker ; though tobacco is in such general 
use in every part of the continent which I have 
visited. I must therefore suppose from the long 
black habit which she wore in consequence of 
mourning, that she was mistaken for some officer 
of the Duke of Brunswick’s corps, whose uniform, 
I believe, is of that sombre cast; but here again I 
am at a loss for the resemblance, as I cannot imagine 
how she could pass for such without the mustachios. 
I’ll not, however, teaze you or myself, with any 
more conjectures on this point—but enter Ron 9 oy, 
the outlandish inhabitants of which received us with 
vacant stare, wondering no doubt who the devil we 
could be, tramping it on foot in that unfrequented 
part of the country. We walked, however, into the 
best looking inn, if so it may be called, and began our 
communication with the hostess and her family, by 
telling them that we had left our carriage to travel 
leisurely along the heavy roads, while we had pro¬ 
ceeded on foot:—this piece of information, however 
unnecessary it may appear to you, was indispensable 
here, to allay the terror which the notion of a triple 

i / 

apparition had impressed them with; for such we cer- 

Tour. R 


/ 


250 


A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 


tainly appeared to these poor people, whose residence, 
since they had lived in it, had harboured nothing 
beyond the humble hawker and pedlar, and the 
neighbouring peasantry of the place. 

The miserable appearance of the house, on my 
first entering it, made me tremble for chamber ac¬ 
commodation, in which particular we had already 
endured sufficient mortification. Through a shat¬ 
tered window in the yard I got a glimpse of what 
I feared was to be our lot in this respect, and began 
to form the idea, that it would be better for us all 
to pass the night in our carriage than submit to the 
nuisance. It was as well, however, to face the evil, 
and see precisely what it was before we decided, so 
ordering the-1 must conclude here ; the captain 

of the packet Is this moment informing us, that as 

the wind has shifted fair, he means to sail immediately 
for Dover: to-morrow evening you may look for 
my arrival.—Adieu. 


THE END. 













v'/ 


ERRATA. 

Page 18,1. 3. for following, read follow. 

29, 24. for I could give, read I would give. 

54, 6. for attentive, read attractive. 

106, 3. for is exceedingly, read are. 

192, last line wants the word Soraberton. 




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